


it's going to take you people years to recover from all of the damage

by wandering_gypsy_feet



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:49:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28265679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandering_gypsy_feet/pseuds/wandering_gypsy_feet
Summary: but there's going to be a party when the wolf comes home.One-shots focused on how Beth Greene might make it back to her family, and different reunions spanning season 5 to season 10, leaning heavily on theories, thoughts, and wishes. Looking at how her family would get her back and how they'd react to our girl. Different POVs each chapter.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene, Maggie Greene/Glenn Rhee, Rick Grimes/Michonne
Comments: 227
Kudos: 180
Collections: Beth and Daryl Completed





	1. Gorman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if...
> 
> Daryl caught up to the car after chasing it from the funeral home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i have like a million thoughts on Beth coming home and what it would be like to see her reunite with team family and most of all, DARYL. and I don't wanna write full length fics for them so this is my compromise. 
> 
> title is from the song up the wolves WHICH GIVES ME FEELS CAUSE LIKE 
> 
> it really did take them years to recover from all the damage she did, huh??? 
> 
> TW for gorman's general ickiness, i guess?

Jeffries glances over at him and Gorman grins back. He's feeling mighty fine at the moment, what with everything that's happened tonight. The bait that is the funeral home doesn't ever fail them, and right now, it's netted him the best thing he's seen in months. 

Tall. Thin. Young. Blonde. Pretty as a fucking picture and just his type. 

"Good night," he says cheerfully, speeding back towards the city in the pitch black. Jeffries looks over his shoulder at the small girl in the backseat, hair tangled and tousled, unconscious.

"Don't jinx it," he warns him with a little frown and Gorman scoffs. He's not superstitious, not at all. Besides, what does it matter in this new world? It's a nice night, they've picked up a lovely new little toy for him, and things are going great. 

"What can I jinx?" he demands cockily. And the universe must want to smite his for his hubris, because just then there's a huge bang and he's suddenly fighting to keep the car on the road, swerving and spitting curses. "What the fuck!" 

When he skids to a stop, Jeffries is bracing himself on the dash, wide eyed. The girl in the backseat is slumped over but still passed out. When Gorman finally gets the car to a stop on the side of the road, Jeffries lets out a long breath and looks over at him, eyes narrowed, tone accusing. "You popped a tire, for sure." 

"Fuck," Gorman sighs, leaning forward and pressing his head against the steering wheel. Just when he thought he had it all. "Think we can drive on it back to the city?" 

"And have Dawn ream our asses when she has to find a new rim? No." Jeffries shakes his head, already pulling out his gun. "C'mon, kit's in the trunk. We can get it jacked and fixed, won't take too long." 

"Fine." Gorman thumps the steering wheel in frustration, looking back at the blonde in the backseat. She'll be out for a little bit longer. Won't do a lot of damage, plus Dawn will be a real bitch if they put another car out of commission. He resigns himself to the fact that he's going to have to work a little bit for her, but he's pretty sure she'll be worth it in the end. "Yeah, fine, let's fix the damn thing."

They get out of the car, Jeffries with his gun up. The noise will have attached every undead freak nearby, so they wait for them to emerge from the trees. He finds it a little odd that none do, but he's not about to question a gift from the universe, not a second one tonight. Once they are both reassured that at least there's no imminent threat, he opens the trunk to grab the jack and the spare tire, getting to work. Jeffries keeps watch as Gorman first works to get the flat tire off before grabbing the spare. 

“Would you hurry up?” Jeffries demands as time passes and Gorman rolls his eyes. 

“Calm down, she’s not gonna wake up,” he retorts, annoyed. Like he's not doing all the fucking hard work right now, under a damn car. What's the rush anyways? It's not like they can't wait a second. “You saw the cut on her, bet it’s a concussion.” 

“She’s not gonna be any use to you if you broke her damn back,” Jeffries warns him darkly and Gorman chuckles. 

“Or that'd just make it easier,” he counters and then there’s silence. He wonders if he’s pushed the other cop too far — Jeffries seems fine with what they do, but he’s not sure. Maybe the guy just went off to check something. Or he’s grabbing something from the car. Or he’s taking down a dead body. Gorman doesn’t worry too much about it. Until… “Jeffries? C’mon man. Gimme a hand here.” 

Nothing. Annoyed, he sticks his head back out from under the car. When the hell did the man go? They’re not supposed to wander off on runs; Dawn has made that abundantly clear. But Jeffries isn’t there. He stands, brushing his pants off, looking inside the car. The blonde is still there, passed out, so he starts to circuit the car, blinking out into the dark woods to see if Jeffries is just taking a leak or something when — 

He hardly registers the pain of the arrow going through his throat. All of the sudden, it’s just like a warmth spreading over his entire body and he’s numb, slumping to the ground. He wants to scream, to cry out, but there’s nothing. Nothing except a pouring, gushing warmth all over him and a crossbow emerging from the dark, a man behind it with eyes cut from the night sky. Darkness. Just utter darkness. He doesn’t lower the crossbow, coming to stand over Gorman. Weakly, he thinks _no, no, please don’t,_ but then the man reaches down and pulls the arrow out and there’s nothing, nothing Gorman can do about the dripping warmth, can’t even raise his fingers to steam the flow. 

The man doesn’t say a word to him. He simply leaves him where he is, in the middle of the road, turning to the car and opening the door. Carefully, with a tenderness that you don’t usually see in a man of his size, he pulls the blonde woman towards him, kneeling down to cradle her head. Gorman thinks to himself — _she was supposed to be mine, this wasn’t supposed to happen_ — when the man starts to speak, voice rough and hoarse and broken, like he's ran a great length or something of similar exertion. 

“C’mon Greene. C’mon, I gotcha. It’s okay. It’s safe. You’re safe. We’re safe. It’s okay. Open your eyes, girl. For me. Please.” his voice breaks slightly as he wipes at the blood on her cheek. “I need you Beth, I need you.” 

Gorman watches them as he dies, feeling the blood sliding down his chest. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to became one of those things, those awful creatures, but he’s not going to get any help. Not from the man in front of him, still cradling the girl like she's the most delicate and precious gift from the universe above. 

And just as Gorman’s eyes are sliding shut and he’s feeling himself slip away, she stirs, looking up at the man holding her. And she smiles, unbelievably, like she's thrilled that it's some dirty hick that's looming above her. She smiles, reaching up to wrap an arm around his neck and pulling him down to her. 

“You found me, Daryl Dixon.” 

And then Gorman is gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is going to be a series and the next up will be Noah's pov and any reviews are super duper cherished. happy 2021 everyone!!!


	2. Noah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if... 
> 
> The car Carol and Daryl saw outside the church wasn't going to Grady, but coming from it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys guys guys guys guys
> 
> you guys are the BEST i am so excited to be sharing this story with you
> 
> without further ado 
> 
> noah

In retrospect, maybe having Beth drive the car hadn’t been one of the smartest choices that Noah’s ever made. At the time, the reasoning had been solid. She said she’d been driving since she was a kid on her daddy’s farm, said she knew how to drive stick, and that she had at least a general idea of where they could find some safety once they broke out of the city. Seemed like really solid logic back then so he’d agreed readily.

Yeah, except Beth driving is a nightmare.

She drives like a bat out of hell, flying down the dark backroads at top speed. That wouldn’t be enough to worry Noah though; no, he too wants to get as far away as he can from Dawn and her cronies, as quickly as possible. Even the fact that she doesn’t bother to slow down for curves or corners isn’t enough to alarm him because he gets it, she’s panicked. He’s panicked. They’re both a little high on the adrenaline of their escape.

No, he’s worried because Beth is talking to herself.

And not like, muttering reassurances or a cheery little pep talk. Noah would get that too. They’re all a little cracked up these days; what’s some self encouragement? But no, it’s like a full blown conversation with an entirely invisible person, complete with pauses like the empty air is going to respond and she's doing eye rolls and hand gestures and noises of annoyance. Apparently, whoever the hell she’s speaking to is a real asshole.

“I know what you would do,” Beth snarls, continuing the conversation that’s been going on for a few minutes now. “But I can’t do that, it’s not the same. It’s not the same, we’re not the same!”

“Hey, Beth?” Noah tries again for the third or fourth time to to get her attention, bracing himself as they take a turn on two wheels. ”Who, uh… Who you talking to?”

“I know, I know, I know,” Beth mutters quietly, slapping her palm on the steering wheel. “I know! I remember what you taught me.”

“Okay,” Noah says quietly to himself, trying to think of what to do to get her to stop. “Beth, hey…”

“Okay, fine.” Beth rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine, you win.”

“I do?” Noah looks at her in surprise and sees that she’s still not really seeing him. She’s still talking to whoever is in her head.

“You better be watching. I’ll do it like we talked about. I know! I know how good you are. I’m just…” Beth trails off with a tiny little sigh. “I’m scared Daryl. I’m scared you won’t come.”

“Who the hell is Daryl?” Noah asks, not expecting an answer. And he doesn’t get one. Because all of the sudden they’re cresting a hill — and the wheels leave the ground — and there are two people standing there on the side of the road. Noah swears, bracing himself, but the people dart out of the way, so they’re not walkers, and Beth’s eyes are too wide.

And then she hits the brakes after going 90 miles an hour and Noah knows what’s going to happen, because it’s happened before, and he feels the familiar weightless and darkness as the car spins out of control.

He comes to with the acute realization that he’s in danger. A lot of danger. He’s dangling upside down in the wrecked car and he groans, hearing the crunch of glass. Someone is outside the car, and not walkers. There’s no moaning or groaning or stumbling so he knows that it must be humans. And that’s worse, so he starts to fight to get out of the car, trying to free himself. Beside him, Beth hangs limply from her seat.

He wants to wait for her. He does. But she’s unconscious and he’s in danger and he’s going to have to fight his way out of this so he drops and tries to crawl out over the broken glass and metal, wishing he had a knife like Beth does but he’s got nothing. He squeezes himself through a broken window, his bad leg screaming in protest at the maneuver. And for his pain, he gets nothing but a gun in his face and an older woman behind it, staring down at him with flat blue eyes and not a hint of fear about her.

“You got the driver?” she asks someone, over Noah’s head and he hears a grunt in affirmation from another person. Then the woman looks back down at him, mouth a thin, hard line. Noah slowly puts his hands up. No use trying to run. He’d never make it far anyways. The woman glares at him and demands, “what’s your name?”

“Noah,” he admits reluctantly.

“Where were you coming from?” she questions him and he keeps his mouth shut. He can’t tell them that. He won’t. For him and Beth, but also for these peoples' sakes. He doesn’t want anyone else getting mixed up with Dawn and her thugs. When he doesn’t answer, the woman growls and steps closer, gun coming to his head and he closes his eyes to accept death when he hears the muffled exclamation on the other side of the car.

“Don’t hurt her!” he yells, eyes popping open trying to get up only to be stopped by the cold steel to his forehead and the unmistakable click of the hammer. The woman looks ready to pull the trigger until —

“Carol!” the panic in the other person’s voice gets the woman to lower her gun slightly, eyes flicking up and over the car. Noah knows this is his moment, his chance, but he can only think that something has happened to Beth so he turns to look too, and sees the man straighten up, holding Beth in his arms. The look on his face… Noah’s never seen anything like that before.

He's a big guy. Broad shouldered and barrel chested, kinda like Noah's dad had been. He's got long, dark hair that hangs down over his face but doesn't do much to hide the expression of pure panic. He looks like a rough sort of man and Noah would be alarmed, would assume that he wants something from Beth, something awful because he just looks like that kind of guy, but there's something but the absolute tenderness in the way he's holding Beth — no, _cradling_ Beth — that makes Noah think that he'll never, ever hurt her. 

“Is that…” the woman, Carol, looks stunned, lowering the gun entirely.

“Beth!” Noah tries to rise and go to her but the woman stops him with a hand on his shoulder, disbelief on her face. “Is she okay?”

“How do you know her?” Carol demands of him and he ignores her.

“Hey! Hey! Is she okay?” he cries and the man carries her over to the grass, carefully lying her out on the ground. Noah tries to rise, tries to go to her, but Carol holds him back. He can't help but cry out, thinking of the cops at Grady with their roving hands and their favorites. “Don’t hurt her! Don’t hurt her!”

“Shut up!” Carol hisses, squeezing his clavicle. “Do you want every walker to come down on us? Shut your damn mouth.”

“Is she okay?” he asks again, seeing the man push back Beth’s hair gently.

“Daryl,” Carol mutters, still holding Noah back. “She okay?”

_Wait._

“Daryl?” Noah asks in confusion and the man glances at him, brow furrowing. Carol’s arms loosen around him somewhat. “You’re… Are you that Daryl?”

“What Daryl?” Carol demands and Noah gestures to Beth.

“Her… Daryl. Back at the hospital, she was always talking to someone. Like she could hear what they were saying back in her head. And then when we escaped, she was talking to someone who wasn’t actually there. And then she was talking about a Daryl.” he doesn’t want to give too much away, but these people don’t look like they want to hurt Beth. And if this is the Daryl that she’s been talking — well, not about but to — then maybe things will be okay.

“What the hell are you doing with her?” Carol demands and he sees the way that the man, that Daryl, is cradling Beth’s head and and kneeling protectively over her. And Noah decides that he can’t fuck up anymore than he already has so he tells her. He tells her everything. He starts with him and his dad, he ends with the way that he and Beth escaped in a car, Beth hellbent on getting them back somewhere to someone, and he tells her everything in between.

“Is she okay?” he asks finally and Carol glances at Daryl, eyebrows raised.

“She’ll be okay,” he mutters, rocking back on his heels, his hands still gently cradling Beth's head. “Just… Gotta wake up.”

“Think I should go back to the church? Get the others?” Carol asks Daryl, who doesn’t look away from Beth for a second.

“Nah. She’s coming around.”

“How can you tell?” Noah asks and then a moment later, Beth starts to stir, slowly at first and then all at once, sitting up in a gasping panic, eyes wild, legs and hands moving like she’s ready to start running or fighting.

“Hey! Hey!” Daryl’s hands find her shoulders; holding her away from him so that she can’t strike him but not forcing her back down to the ground. “Beth! It’s me, Daryl.”

“Daryl?” Beth asks, her voice breaking. He gives her a little nod and then Beth suddenly launches herself at him, knocking him clean off his feet until they’re a tangle on the ground. Noah starts forward, a little worried but Carol catches his elbow, giving him a little shake of her head.

“It’s okay,” she tells him. “They’re not going to hurt each other. Well, besides maybe strangling each other but… They’ll be okay.”

“Who is he, to her?” Noah asks, the question that’s been burning in his mind for awhile now. Since Beth arrived at the hospital actually, since he saw the fight blazing in her eyes and knew that she was a fighter, she was someone who could help get him out. Because she’d whisper that name sometimes, when she thought no one was listening.

Daryl.

“I don’t know.” Carol is watching as Beth and Daryl somehow manage to twist themselves deeper into a hug, until Noah is no longer able to see where Beth starts and Daryl ends, the two of them merged together. “I thought I did, but things change. And I think they’ve changed too.”

“She said she had people out here, people who could keep her — us — safe,” Noah says hesitantly. And no wonder Beth had said that, if she’d been thinking of Daryl. Noah’s known him for less than fifteen minutes and already he’s fairly certain that if he so much as moves against Beth now, he’d be ended. Arms like that could rip Noah in two.

“That’d be us,” Carol remarks as Beth suddenly pulls back, both her hands on Daryl’s cheeks. Noah feels like he’s watching an oddly personal moment and he adverts his eyes. But he doesn’t miss the way that Beth smiles or the fact that Daryl leans into her with tears on his cheeks. Then she rises and comes over to hug Carol tightly around the waist. After a moment, Carol pats her back softly. Then Beth turns to Noah, beaming.

“You crashed the car,” he informs her and Beth laughs, grinning and hugging him.

“I knew I saw Daryl and Carol on the road,” she tells him and Daryl comes over, glaring at Noah. “I, uh…”

“Crashed the damn car,” Noah finishes for her and Beth is still laughing, still pulling him into a hug, giddy with relief that they're free.

“We’re going to be safe now,” she tells him and then she steps back, right in Daryl’s waiting arms. “Everything’s going to be okay. We’re going to be alright, Noah.”

He’s still a little mad at her for crashing the car. Okay, he’s still _really_ mad at her for crashing the car. And on their walk back to the church, he hears Daryl also being mad at her for crashing the car. But he sees the way Beth is smiling at him, the way their fingers stay intertwined, and how the two of them stay close, Beth looking happier than he’s ever seen her. And he thinks that Beth probably thinks that Daryl Dixon is worth crashing a car over.

He gets it. He does.

He’s just never going to ever let her drive again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all, i am gonna have a RANT about the cars and grady not this week but next week in the 7th chapter of 'no red thread but a bowstring' so just like
> 
> prepare yourselves
> 
> ANYWAYS REVIEWS ARE A KINDNESS AND I LOVE YOU ALL


	3. Rick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if...
> 
> Beth had done actual damage with her scissors?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay okay okay okay okay
> 
> listen
> 
> not to rant before this chapter but like for the life of me i have watched the stupid coda episode 1 million times and i still cannot understand any of it. like i don't want to get all tin foil hat here BUT IT'S SO WEIRD AND STUPID AND POINTLESS unless it has some future meaning but urgh
> 
> anyways i present to you guys: the chapter that's going to get me arrested by the FBI

Rick can practically feel Daryl vibrating with tension next to him. Perhaps, if he hadn’t known Daryl Dixon, he wouldn’t even be able to tell. But he does know him, he knows him pretty damn well, and he can tell just how tightly wound the man is even though on the outside, Daryl looks absolutely unbothered. He wants to reassure him, tell him that they’re going to get Beth and Carol back safely and things are going to be fine, but he can’t do that. 

Rick can’t make promises he doesn’t know if he can keep, not anymore. 

He’s also feeling the stress of the whole thing. It’s been a long time since he’s been to Atlanta — the last time had been the nightmare with the CDC. And the last time he’d been in a hospital? He doesn’t even want to think about that. He keeps pushing it from his mind as they climb stairs and walk down hallways, stopping before two double doors into one of the wards.

He can feel Daryl’s aggravation. He can sense the nerves from everyone behind them, especially Noah. Rick has to lead them. They’re all counting on him, counting on him to keep it together and make sure that everyone walks out of this unharmed. He feels the pressure like a physical thing, waiting in silence for the other shoe to drop, the axe to swing, whatever the right idiom is to apply to this situation. 

"Holster your weapons,” crackles a cold voice over the radio and the hair on the back of Rick’s neck rises. He’s seen the face of true evil recently. He’s looked it right in the eye. He’s not sure what the hell he’s going to find on the other side of that door, but hopefully it’s Beth and Carol.

"You too,” Rick tells his crew. He can’t risk anyone getting trigger happy. Enough mistakes have already been made. He waits until everyone has put their guns away before the other cops open the doors. As one, they move into the hallway.

Rick has to remain standing, but something in him wants to collapse at the sight of Beth and Carol. Carol looks weak — in a wheelchair, far too pale, but she’s holding onto Beth’s hand. And Beth herself looks bad, with two cuts on her face that are stitched with thick, black thread and a pasty white cast on one wrist. But she’s upright. She’s walking. She’s holding tight to Carol and she’s looking right at Rick, blue eyes wide. 

He hopes like hell this is going to be okay, especially when he hears Daryl’s quivering exhale and something muttered under his breath that sounds a hell of a lot like, _“Beth…”_

"They haven't been harmed,” he tells the woman, the one Noah calls Dawn. She looks just as cold as the kid had said and Rick knows her type. He’d met plenty of cops before the turn, ones who held tightly to power for the sake of power, for the sake of having something to hold over others. He wants out. He wants his family out. He just wants to go.

"Where's Lamson?” she asks and he holds his breath, willing everyone to clear this first hurdle.

"Rotters got him,” answers the female cop without hesitation. 

"We saw it go down,” explains the other one and Rick doesn’t show any relief or hesitation on his face. Everything hinges on this going smoothly and that means not showing a second of weakness. 

“Oh.” Dawn doesn’t look like she believes them, but there's no proof otherwise. "I'm sorry to hear that. He was one of the good guys.” the words ring hollow, devoid of emotion, especially in the long, damn near unending pause that fills the entire hallway, like Dawn is sizing him up before she makes a decision. And when she does, Rick holds his breath. "One of yours for one of mine.” 

"All right.” Rick can’t show any relief or hesitation. Can’t show any emotion at all. He nods and Daryl grabs the cop. 

“Move,” Daryl growls, marching him forward. A cop from the other side takes up Beth’s position pushing Carol. Daryl meets them, taking Carol’s wheelchair and pushing her back towards their people, relaxing by the single, slightest margin. Rick doesn’t feel very reassured. Rick wants to breath when they pass him but he doesn’t. He’s watching Dawn, waiting. Noah had said she would do something erratic, do anything to maintain her control over this place. Rick knows it’s coming. He waits and watches her, showing her that he will not be cowed. 

After a second, Dawn takes up Beth’s arm, pulling her forward a bit roughly. Rick grabs the other cop, the female cop, marching with her. He wants to meet Dawn halfway. He wants her to look at him and see that he is unafraid, that he knows exactly what she is. He will not back down. He will not risk the members of this family either, but he won’t show her any fear or weakness. 

They meet in the middle, just like the others had. He can see Beth now, can get within arms reach of her. Dawn lets Beth go so he releases the cop and then he waits, with breath he still hasn’t been able to exhale, as Beth passes the cop and makes it to him. He catches her and he realizes she’s the only one not trembling, the only one not shaking in fear. In fact, she hardly seems to see him at all, eyes on the group behind him. 

She lets him hug her, pull her close, press a kiss to her head, but she doesn’t look at him. She’s looking back, watching Daryl. And Daryl is who reaches out to her, catches her, and then pulls her into his chest with such force that Beth almost stumbles into him. If Rick could wonder at anything other than the current danger they’re in, he might wonder why it seems like Daryl only relaxes when he gets Beth’s shoulders within his arms. 

"Glad we could work things out,” Dawn tells him, in a voice that doesn’t seem glad at all.

“Yeah.” Rick wants his people gone. They’re so close. Things are almost done. So why the hell can’t he breathe still? 

"Now I just need Noah,” Dawn declares, stopping the whispers that have cropped up behind her and Rick wants to sigh. Of course. That’s why. Because Noah warned him that Dawn won’t stop, won’t ever stop, and can’t ever be seen as weak. So Rick stops, turning to look slowly back at her as she desperately tries to change the terms of their agreement and regain the upper hand. "And then you can leave."

He’s mad. He’s so fucking pissed. Why can’t things just ever go smoothly? Why does this woman think that she can own people? Why does everything have to be a fucking struggle in this world? He wants to scream at her as he's walking back and barely repressing a snarl as he spits out his words. "That wasn't part of the deal.” 

"Noah was my ward. Beth took his place and I'm losing her, so I need him back,” Dawn counters and he wonders what fresh hell he’s stumbled into. This new world, where people eat others and lay claim to them like they’re food or shelter, who trade for them like they’re nothing but goods and services. This isn’t human anymore.

"Ma'am, please, it's not…” the female cop tries to intercede.

“Shepherd!” Dawn cuts her off sharply. "My officers put their lives on the line to find him. One of them died.” she’s trying to save face. She has to save face. Rick would understand that, if saving face didn’t mean trading kids for kids, sending Noah back to a hell that he risked everything to escape from. He earned his freedom, and who is Rick to take that away? 

"No, he ain't staying.” Daryl pushes Noah back, stepping forward with a furious expression. Rick has never seen him so angry, working so hard to repress it. 

"He's one of mine. You have no claim on him!” Dawn tells them, eyes on Daryl and contempt on her face. Rick feels better having him by his side, even if Daryl looks ready to go down swinging on every single person in this place.

"The boy wants to go home, so you have no claim on him.” Rick tries to get her to understand. He wants her to understand. He wishes this was the old world, where things could make sense and shit would be easier and this wouldn’t be happening. She has to understand. She was to let this happen, she has to make it go smooth. 

Rick is sick of killing humans. 

"Well, then we don't have a deal,” she states and he stares at her in disbelief. They have Beth back, they have Carol, they have Noah behind them, they turned over the cops, they holstered their weapons. 

"The deal is done,” he tells her, thinking that she’s a stupid woman and he wants his family out of this place, and now. 

"It's okay.” Noah steps forward and Rick catches him in the chest. Knows what he’s planning, knows what he’s thinking, knows exactly why he’s doing it. 

"No. No.” he wants to explain to Noah that he doesn’t have to. They’re a family, and Noah is part of that family now, and that means that they’ll fight for him. 

"I gotta do it,” Noah tells him with a sad, resigned look as he turns over his gun. Rick takes it numbly, wondering where things are going wrong. It doesn’t have to be this way. It shouldn’t be this way. 

"It's not okay.” Beth steps forward, her little boots tapping on the tile floor, voice anguished. 

"It's settled.” Dawn looks too damned pleased with herself, too damn smug about all of this. Noah steps back over towards Dawn and the line of the cops and Rick stares at him, wordless. It shouldn’t be like this. 

“Wait!” Beth cries, bypassing all of them and Rick sees Daryl start forward out of the corner of his eye, as Beth throws her arms around Noah, hugging him tightly. Rick wants to reach for her, wants to pull her back and away and out of danger but he doesn’t. It could still be okay. They could still lose Noah but gain Beth and Carol and that should be a win. It should. He should let her say goodbye.

"It's okay,” Noah tells Beth in a voice that very much seems like it’s not okay. 

“I knew you'd be back,” Dawn says with cold derision and Rick sees the change as Beth's body suddenly tightens. She goes rigid, slowly letting go of Noah to turn and face Dawn. And all the tension that Rick has been feeling seems to hit a screaming peak.

"I get it now,” Beth says, with so much hatred in her usually sweet voice that Rick hardly knows it’s her. 

And then Beth moves, moves in a way that makes Rick want to scream because he knows what she’s doing. And it’s going to get her killed. 

She stabs, twists, _yanks._

There’s a spurt of blood. 

A gun fires. 

And Beth falls to the ground. 

“No!” cries the other cop, as Rick reaches for his own gun. Dawn is slumped on the ground, shaking fingers pressing to her throat, blood gushing out at a pace Rick knows cannot be stopped or slowed. The move from Beth had been one Rick has seen Daryl do, several times, when slicing the neck of a deer to drain it of blood. Hitting the carotid artery means she’ll bleed out slightly slowly but surely. “Hold your fire! It’s over. It was just about her. Stand _down.”_

Rick doesn’t look at Beth. Can’t bring himself to. Just watches the cops, watches them and waits with his hand on the Python, ignoring Dawn’s chocked gurgles on her own blood. Waits until they all slowly put their weapons away, hands coming up. He waits until he’s sure that no one else is going to shoot. And then he looks down, mentally steeling himself to see sweet, innocent Beth, dead. 

Daryl is cradling her body. He’s rocking back and forth and tears are streaming down his face and Rick can’t breathe, hasn’t been able to for ages. He doesn’t know what happened with Beth and Daryl after the prison, just that it had been something. Something that Daryl needed, something that now he’s lost and Rick isn’t sure he has it in him to pull himself up after this, not after this loss. 

Beth has blood dripping down the side of her face, staining her golden hair. For a moment, all Rick can think is that — good, spare them the trauma of having to watch her become a walker or stabbing her so she won't — and then she moves. And his whole brain screams at him, screams at the fact that _no, walkers don’t survive headshots_ and then her eyes flutter open. 

Clear, blue eyes. 

And he gives a laughing sort of sigh of relief, weak in the knees. 

“Hey!” Daryl’s heart still sounds like it’s breaking. Still sounds like he’s cracking at the seams. “Beth?” 

“We… Matching,” she mutters and Daryl blanches and Rick blinks, wondering if she’s got some head trauma that makes her talk nonsense but then she reaches up and touches Daryl’s temple. Right where he took that bullet from Andrea back on the farm, a hundred lifetimes ago. When Rick looks, really looks, he sees Dawn's bullet didn't tear through Beth's skull at all but simply grazed her, opening up a gash but otherwise leaving her head perfectly intact. 

And Rick can’t help but smile. 

Daryl doesn’t have words for her. He doesn’t; he just pulls her close and rocks back and forth with her right there in his arms and Rick turns, looking at the other cops. They seem wary but unwilling to do anything, so Rick turns back to his people, his family. He touches Daryl’s shoulder so that he’ll stand and he does, holding Beth in his arms. Noah looks at him and Rick nods, and then they walk out together, as a family. 

He hears Beth and Daryl behind him. Beth is trying to explain to Daryl why she stabbed Dawn and he’s not having any of it, the two of them having a whispered fight as Tyreese helps Carol slowly down the stairs. Either Daryl doesn’t trust Beth to walk herself or he doesn’t want to let her go, but he carries her down the entire flight of stairs as they bicker under their breath. Rick feels like smiling, a hand on Noah's back as they all leave together. 

The fight, whatever it is, ends with Beth’s hissed — _“they were raping people Daryl! I had to! It’s what you would’ve done!”_ — and then a long pause before Daryl admits — _“woulda been cleaner with your knife though.”_ — and Beth's pointed reminder that — _"they took my knife and **you** taught me to improvise."_ — and then that’s that and everything is alright, because they’re spilling into the sunshine and he sees Maggie and Glenn. Maggie's face is alight with hope and so he manages a smile and a nod, stepping aside to show her a limping Carol with Tyreese, Sasha helping Noah, and then Daryl, still holding Beth, blood from the bullet graze still drying on her face and hair. 

And he keeps smiling, to hear Maggie’s shout of delight. 

* * *

“It’s been three weeks since Atlanta,” Rick says to Daryl as they trudge down the road, everyone hot and sweating but in good spirits despite themselves. He’s been putting off having this conversation with Daryl mostly because it hasn’t felt necessary. Everything is good. Everything is okay. They’ve got Beth back, they’re going for Virginia, it’ll be alright. “You wanna tell me what happened back there?” 

“Back where?” Daryl grunts and Rick grins at him. As if on cue, Beth turns around from where she’s walking with Carol and Maggie, looking back at them. She bounds back to the pair of them, twining her arms around one of Daryl’s with a curious expression. The cut to her temple is still healing, but she refuses stitches. Says it’s fine, she’s got enough of those. She’ll have three new scars to keep for the rest of her life, and she’d been right, back on the hospital floor. The one on her temple is almost a dead match to the one on Daryl. 

“Whatcha talking about?” she asks, looking between the two of them with a knowing little smirk. 

“You,” Rick tells her and she grins, looking up at Daryl. 

“Still mad at me?” she asks with a teasing nudge and Daryl grumbles something. He’d been real upset with her for the first couple days for pulling such a risky move, but eventually he’d caved to the fact that she'd done the right thing and had done it to protect them, and that he couldn't be mad at her for putting herself in danger when he would've done the same. So now Beth laughs and stretches up onto the tips of her toes, pressing a kiss to Daryl’s cheek. 

Yeah, he’d caved on that too. 

Daryl blushes but lets Beth hold his hand and walk with them for awhile, bringing up the rear and protecting all of the rest, their entire family. And Rick thinks that it’s a damn good thing Daryl has Beth, that they got her back. 

The world needs more happiness and they deserve it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why's this chapter getting me arrested, you might ask? because i had to google how beth conceivably could've killed dawn with THE WORLDS SMALLEST SCISSORS and the only logical conclusion is that she should've stabbed her in the goddamn throat except she aimed for Dawn's fucking CLAVICLE and oh my god i gave myself a headache 
> 
> what was the point, scott gimple??? what was the POINT?
> 
> also when/where did carol get beth's knife? why did beth not stab Dawn with the knife? why did rick let noah go when they all could've walked back out? this man ran down a guy with a car like ONE episode ago, you're telling me he wouldn't sucker punch Dawn and just keep walking???? HE THREATENED CANNIBALS TWO DAYS AGO WHO HAD HIM HOGTIED BUT IS SCARED OF A LADY COP LIKE - 
> 
> please give me your theories in the comments on what the point of the episode was, i need them because i do not understand


	4. Carl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if...
> 
> Daryl Dixon did get something from Santa Claus?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO now we move into the realm of 'coda is still canon but also fuck coda'
> 
> i promise every chapter after this one has like theories and signs and signals and foreshadowing
> 
> but this chapter?? this chapter is pure fluff and has no logical backing except IT'S MY STORY AND I DO WHAT I WANT
> 
> set in a world where team family actually catches a fucking break and gets to relax for two seconds after they get to Alexandria

Carl can’t get over this place. Alexandria is just plain weird. It’s one thing for them to have electricity and running water and microwaves — Carl didn’t realize how much he missed microwaves — but then there’s the fact that they’re celebrating Christmas.

Christmas. 

In the apocalypse. 

It’s _weird._

He knows Santa isn’t real. That secret had been blown the last Christmas they’d ever had in the normal, old world. He’d caught his dad putting gifts in their stockings by staying up late and sneaking around and being nosy. Carl had promised his dad that he would lie to his mom, pretend to keep believing for a few more years. That particular memory is only a few years old, but to Carl it might as well be lifetimes. He is an entirely different person now, a separate being from that little boy he was. Nowadays, if a bearded stranger tried to enter Carl’s house through the chimney, he’d shoot him, no questions asked. 

Judith though. Judith deserves a Christmas, even if she doesn’t really understand what it means. And so while Carl thinks it’s pretty pointless to do things like decorating a tree and wrapping presents, he will go along with it for her sake. She deserves to have some magic and happiness. Carl comes down to the living room with the rest of their little family and sits near the tree and bounces Judith on his lap while everyone goes around and exchanges a few little trinkets here and there. Mostly just stuff they made or scavenged, because what else there to give each other anymore? 

Everyone else seems to be having fun with it. The only who isn’t is Daryl, lingering in the background. Carl’s become so accustomed to him hanging back from everyone that he doesn’t really think anything of it. That is, not until there’s a booming knock on the door and everyone turns, hands going to the knives on their belts or their crossbow on their back or the katana that still hangs over the fireplace, as Carol goes to answer the door. 

“Oh my god, Santa,” Tara jokes to defuse the tension when the man walks in. For a millisecond, Carl’s brain believes her before he recognizes that it’s just Mr. Tanner from three streets over, who has a bushy white beard and a big belly and is dressed in a thick red sweater to protect against the cold chill of the night. Maybe before, in the old world, he might’ve donned a suit and sat in a mall and Carl would’ve told him about whatever stupid gift he wanted for that year, like a bike or a Power Ranger or something else useless now. 

“Mr. Tanner.” Rick stands up, head tilted slightly as he gives him a warm but questioning greeting. “Merry Christmas. Can I help you with something?” 

“Sorry to interrupt your festivities,” the man apologizes. “But I had gate duty and we had a new arrival. When I brought her to Deanna, she said to bring her to you.” 

“To me?” worry crosses Rick’s face and the tension in the room thickens. What does that mean? Does Deanna think that the new person is somehow dangerous? Why would she allow them into Alexandria in the first place then? Carl gets ready to put Judith behind him, to stand up and defend and fight. Even Tara doesn’t make a funny remark; everyone is watching Mr. Tanner in concern with their weapons close at hand. 

“She says she knows you,” he explains and then stands aside as a new figure walks into the house, blinking in the light from the candles and the tree. 

Shock. 

Disbelief. 

And then Maggie’s voice, a wail erupting from her. 

“Beth?” 

_Chaos._

Everyone in the room moves, whether they want to or not. It’s a mad rush to push people out of the way — Gabriel, Eugene, Tara, Rosita, Abraham — they’re all shoved as everyone hurdles couches and chairs and the garbage from their gifts as they all rush to get their hands on Beth. Even Mr. Tanner gets knocked aside by Noah as he throws himself bodily at the girl disappearing beneath the pile of arms and hands. 

_Chaos._

Beth is crying, trying to touch everyone at once, hugging Maggie and touching Glenn’s shoulder and kissing Carol’s cheek and burying her face into Carl’s neck when he manages to hand her Judith. Everyone is crying and talking at the same time, all of their words overlapping and questions going unanswered as they all cry, cry, cry. 

_Chaos._

At some point, they have to back up and give her room to breathe or risk smothering her. Then Beth can get proper hugs in and she spends a few long minutes just holding Maggie and swaying on the spot. She strokes Judith’s head and squeezes Sasha’s hand when she tells her that Tyreese saved Judith but is gone now, and she pats Noah’s back when he tells her, over and over again, how sorry he is for leaving her behind, for everything that happened. 

Carl is so shocked to see her again that he can only hug her once and twice and three times, as she tells them all that the some of the patients from the hospital that she'd been close to had waited until the walkers had passed to go get back her body from where she'd been placed in a trunk and found her still living. Dr. Edwards had nursed her back to health and then she’d left, because Daryl had killed Dawn and broken her system. 

Daryl. He’s the only one not crowding around Beth. Instead he’s still sitting in the shadows, just watching. But Carl figures that’s just how Daryl is nowadays. And he is so happy to have Beth back, sitting beside her on the couch while she holds Judith and Maggie lays her hand on her sister’s shoulder and just keeps crying, that he doesn't spend too much time thinking about Daryl Dixon. 

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Tara cries at some point when the tears are too thick and everyone laughs, including Beth as she gazes around at them, the family that she found again. Carl doesn’t believe in Santa but he guesses he still believes in some sort of magic around Christmas. How can he not, if this is what happened tonight? 

“Alright, we’ll have all of tomorrow to catch up with Beth,” Rick announces, as they get deeper and deeper into the night. “She’s been traveling, she'll need her rest, and she's not going anywhere. Never again, right?” 

“Never,” Beth promises, brushing a kiss over Judith’s head and then handing her off to Michonne with a bit of a regretful smile. 

“Better get to bed,” Rick jokes, “or we’re going to catch Santa getting into the milk and cookies like some little sneak I know.” his eyes find Carl’s and they grin at each other at the memory they share. Carl thinks that yeah, Christmas is still nice. 

They all break off, half of them heading over to the second house. Everyone comes to touch Beth’s head or kiss her cheeks or squeeze her shoulders and Beth accepts it all, smiling at them. Rosita, Eugene, Gabriel, and Abraham say their goodnights first, and then Tara, Sasha, and Noah retire to bed while Maggie makes Beth promise to come upstairs and sleep on the air mattress in her and Glenn’s room. Carol, Rick, and Michonne say their farewells last and Beth gives one last kiss to Judith. 

“I’ll be right up,” Carl promises his dad, when Rick turns and raises his eyebrows at him. Carl isn't sure why he's hesitating, only that he wants to hold onto those old traditions they'd celebrated before. “Just… Gonna leave something out for Santa, you know?” 

“Yeah.” Rick is still looking at Beth with wide eyes, kissing Judith's head. “I’d say he earned it this year.” 

“I’ll be up in a minute too,” Beth says with a little smile, admiring the handmade ornaments that they'd placed on the trees. “Just… Need a second to process.” 

“Yeah,” Michonne chuckles, “I think we’re all going to need some time. And better let Maggie and Glenn get settled in.” 

Everyone is tucked in, but Daryl is still there, sitting in the window seat. He watches in silence as Carl puts the cookies on a little plate and places them by the fireplace. He’s not sure why he’s doing it. Just feels normal, feels good. Beth smiles at him from beside the tree and he smiles back. She still looks like Beth. She’s got scars on her face now, two little ‘C’s on her cheek and forehead and then the little circle that he knows marks where the bullet entered. The fact that she’s alive is a miracle. 

“Goodnight,” he tells her, going in for one last hug. 

“Merry Christmas,” she whispers to him, squeezing thin arms around his neck. Carl grins and heads for upstairs. He’s only up two steps when he hears something fall over with a clatter and he freezes, thinking about walkers and attacks and Beth being gone after getting her back and so he turns around with a pounding heart — only to stop dead. 

The noise had been from Daryl dropping the crossbow onto the floor, which shocks Carl because Daryl _never_ drops his bow. It is still there on the floor and Daryl is a few steps away from it, in front of the tree, Beth in his arms, both of their faces buried in the other’s neck. Carl can see from this angle that Daryl’s fingers are fisted in Beth’s hair and his arms are straining from the effort of holding Beth to him, off the floor. 

Carl stares for a long second, then remembers he’s not supposed to be up at all and that Daryl only moved after Beth had been alone. He eases back onto the stairs, where he’s out of sight but can still hear them. He doesn’t want to intrude, but he can’t help but be curious. Because he did notice how sad Daryl was, when they failed to come back with Beth. He wasn’t just his usual grumpy, sulky self. It was worse — it was a lot worse. 

“I had no idea it was Christmas,” Beth says finally, when it sounds like they’ve released each other. Carl risks peeking around the corner to check. They’re not hugging anymore, but they’re still standing chest to chest and Daryl still has his hands in Beth’s hair and she still has her arms around his neck, gazing up at him. 

Carl thinks he could probably turn cartwheels throughout the whole room and they wouldn’t notice. 

“I’m mad at you,” Daryl warns Beth, face still thunderstruck and Beth laughs, leaning her head to rest on his chest. 

“I’m mad at me,” she tells him in a sad tone, “but it’s Christmas. Can we be sad another day?” 

“Yeah.” Daryl rests his chin on top of her head and then they just stand there in silence for so long that Carl thinks maybe this is it, maybe they’re all done. It’s weird, seeing Daryl this emotional. And Carl’s pretty sure that this isn’t how Beth should be greeting Daryl. They didn’t talk much at the prison and before, but Carl remembers that they were together, after, when things got bad. 

“Hey,” Beth says softly, just when Carl is about to rise and go. He freezes, wondering if she’s talking to him and knows that he’s there, but then Daryl grunts. 

“What?” 

“Never got nothing from Santa Claus,” Beth remarks with the little teasing tone she gets and Carl frowns, wondering what the hell that means. He risks one more peek out, only to be shocked when he sees that Daryl has his forehead pressed to Beth’s and she’s rubbing her thumb over his cheek. 

“Nah,” Daryl mutters with his eyes shut and Beth twines her arm around the back of his neck. “This wasn’t Santa. It was all you, girl.”

Beth gives a sad little chuckle, nose to nose with him. “But… It’s still a gift?”

“It’s a fucking miracle,” Daryl states lowly and Beth pulls him down. 

Carl looks away before he sees them kiss. His sneaking around and nosiness only goes so far. He doesn’t want to see more than that, so he decides to ease his way up the stairs as quietly and carefully as he can. Whatever is going on downstairs, he’s not a part of it. Maybe he’ll get answers tomorrow, but not tonight. He peeks into Judith’s room when he reaches her door, hoping to give himself an alibi in case anyone asks where he’s been. 

Unbidden, he recalls a song that they’d use to listen to around Christmastime and he feels his lips quirk as he looks down at his little sister. He tries to remember the tune but he doesn’t quite have anything besides the lyrics, so he whispers them to Judith. “I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus…” 

Or he saw Beth kissing Daryl Dixon, which is just as weird. 

This whole place is weird, so Carl’s inclined to just go with it now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I JUST NEEDED THIS OKAY I PROMISE FROM HERE ON OUT THERE'LL BE ACTUAL THOUGHTS BEYOND 'imagine daryl getting beth back as his christmas present' 
> 
> next week's chapter is.... MORGAN
> 
> reviews are so lovingly cherished friends i cannot tell you enough


	5. Morgan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if...
> 
> Morgan had help rescuing Daryl and Aaron?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO 
> 
> the whole point of me writing this story was to explore how daryl and beth would react to different reunions in different timelines. therefore each reunion will reflect the circumstances they've found themselves in
> 
> without further ado - morgan!

“It’s a trap,” his companion realizes, staring in through the fence, watching the walkers rock the car in the middle of it, horror in her usually gentle voice. “Who is in the car, they must’ve been looking for supplies. The trucks contained the walkers, I bet. Released them, and they made a run for it.”

“They won’t be able to get out,” Morgan observes, frowning. People weaponizing walkers? People trying to hurt their fellow man? It makes his heart sink, but it's not an unfamiliar tactic, he's afraid to admit. “I’ve seen people make traps like this before.” 

“Not to kill walkers,” Green says, shaking her head, grip tightening on her staff. “To trap humans. That’s wrong.” 

“Should we help them?” he asks her, knowing what her answer will be. She looks at him and he can’t see her expression under his old mask that she now wears, but he knows what it’s going to be and she doesn't hesitate. 

“Yeah, we need to help them.” 

He’d met her outside of Atlanta. Weak, starving, with a fresh bullet wound through her skull. He’d helped her, nursed her back to health. They’d taken to traveling together, the pair of them. He likes having someone else with him, someone to talk to. She’s good company, Green. Suffers from headaches from her wound, and a sensitivity to light most days. She’d started wearing the mask to protect her still healing skull and help dim the brightest lights of the day, but now he thinks it’s more out of habit than any actual need. 

“What are we going to do?” he asks her and she pauses for a second, spinning the staff he’d carved her. He’s been teaching her his ways on their long journey and she’s taken to them naturally, absolutely comfortable with the staff. Doesn’t say if she believes in his creed or just likes a new way to fight, but he doesn’t mind. She still believes there’s good in the world, believes that humans are still capable of being and doing good. And he likes that. 

“You take the passenger door,” she decides, “and I’ll do the driver’s. We clear them a path, get them out, and close the gate. Lock the walkers back in. If we all work together, we can make it. Whoever is in there, they've got to be fighters if they're scavenging. They'll be able to do it.” 

“Alright,” he agrees and she hefts the staff, squaring her slim shoulders. “On three?” 

“On three,” she agrees, and then dives into the herd of walkers. 

He’d asked her once is she remembered anything about herself, about who she is or where she'd came from. She’d shrugged and kept eating her food, eyes on the ground. Said she remembered bits and pieces, said she remembered the color Green was important for some reason. Said she was looking for something, but she didn’t really recall what. And what if he was going somewhere, she’d go there too. He’d soon realized that she was brave against walkers, hopeful despite her injuries, and smart when it came to danger. He likes having her watch his back. 

And he likes that she wants to save people. 

He doesn’t have too much time to think about her. He’s got walkers to knock away, left and right, clearing a path for whoever is in the car to get out. It turns out to be a man, wielding a knife, and taking down walkers, fighting his way to the gate without hesitation. Morgan manages to shove one walker away, then another, trying to get back to the fence and seeing Green and the man from the driver’s side do the same. They all make it through the gate, taking out walkers as they go. 

"Come on. Come on, get in here,” the man in the vest urges them, grabbing Green’s shoulder and pulling her through the gate. The other man, the one with the curly hair, grabs the gate and pulls it together so that he can chain it back up. Morgan turns over his shoulder, but Green is already dispatching one walker with her staff while the vested man shoots another through the eye. 

And then they’re safe.

"That was — oh — thank you,” the curly haired man says, grinning, breathing heavily. He’s got the manic spark of someone who has just cheated death. "I'm Aaron, this is Daryl.”

Daryl, the man with the vest and the crossbow, doesn’t say anything. He’s still got his crossbow up, and now it’s reloaded and pointed at Green. Morgan can guess why. She cuts a pretty odd picture, especially with the dark mask that covers her entire face. For someone who doesn’t know her, it could be anyone under there. Man, woman, child. And these men must not trust easily, which Morgan feels is fair. So he simply puts his hands up, nodding at Green to do the same. 

“Morgan,” he tells them, with what he hopes is a warm smile. "And this is my traveling companion, G." she can reveal her name to them in time if she wants, but he'll respect her wishes until then. 

“Why?” Daryl demands, eyes still on the small form, who has frozen. Morgan would freeze too if he had a crossbow in his face. He tries to deescalate the conflict, because he can tell these two men are the good kind, and he doesn't want anyone getting hurt.

"Why? Because all life is precious, Daryl,” he says, nodding for him to lower the crossbow. “And her life, even more than most, to me. So please, don’t hurt her.” 

"Whoever set that trap, they're coming,” Aaron reminds them, gently touching Daryl’s elbow before looking back at Morgan and Green. "But I have good news — we do. We have a community not too far from here. Walls, electricity, it's safe. If you'd like to come join us —"

Morgan looks over at Green. He won’t make decisions for her, but this sounds like a good place. A safe place. She might want to go there. But she’s still standing there, frozen in place even though the crossbow has been lowered. He wonders why she looks so tense, but now is not the time. So he turns back to the two men and tells them, "I thank you. But I'm on my way somewhere. Fact is, I'm lost, so... If you could tell me where we are?” 

He hands Daryl a map. The man unfolds it, his frown of confusion softening into something deeper, and then he looks up at Morgan with wide eyes at the same time as Green reaches up and pulls off her mask, asking in the smallest, tiniest voice he’s ever heard — 

“Daryl?” 

The crossbow comes right back up and is once again aimed at Green. Aaron gives a startled shout and Morgan only barely manages to stop himself from stepping forward and into the line of fire. But Green doesn’t look worried at all. She’s standing there with her staff lax in one hand and the mask in the other, squinting at the light with a slightly pained grimace like she does when he knows her head is hurting her. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Aaron looks from her to Daryl, concern on his face. Morgan can see that he trusts the man and thinks there must be a good reason for Daryl's reaction, for his panic. Morgan might be inclined to agree, but he knows how good Green is. She’s always been kind. So he doesn't want her to be in any danger. “Daryl, what’s going on?” 

“Ghosts,” Daryl rumbles, like his teeth are clenched too tightly together for him to talk properly, eyes affixed on Green like she'll disappear if he so much as thinks about blinking. “S’damn ghost.” 

“What?” Aaron demands, clearly thinking that Daryl has lost his mind but Morgan is watching Green. And those clear blue eyes are filled with tears that threaten to spill onto her cheeks, over the fresh scar that he’d removed the stitches from not a few days ago. And she’s watching Daryl, eyes not on the tip of the crossbow but on his face. No fear. No pain. She just looks... Well, hopeful. 

“Green?” Morgan asks her carefully and there’s a noise from Daryl’s chest, like a wounded animal calling out for help. 

“Beth,” she corrects him, not taking her eyes from Daryl’s face, her smile growing warmer and larger even as the crossbow stays right in her face. “I remember it all now. Beth Greene. That’s my name.” 

“Yer dead,” Daryl growls in anguish, crossbow never wavering. “Saw you die.” 

“What?” Aaron looks between Beth and Daryl, then raises confused eyes to Morgan. All he can do is shrug, because he doesn’t have any sort of clue of what’s happening, not anymore. This isn't his story to tell, it's hers. 

“I didn’t,” Beth says simply, her hand going up to gently touch the circular scar on her forehead. The place where the bullet entered her head, skimmed her brain, and then went out the back. “I survived.” 

“How?” Daryl still hasn’t lowered the crossbow, but it doesn’t seem to bother Beth. Morgan wishes it would; it’s starting to rankle him, seeing the girl he’s cared for being in such a position of danger and not having any idea why she is or how come she doesn't seem bothered in the slightest by it. 

“Dunno,” she admits, still watching Daryl's eyes from where they peek out from under his messy black hair. “Just did. I… Made it.” 

“Nah.” Daryl’s chin is wobbling, but the arms are steady where they hold up the crossbow. “Nah, I carried you out. Felt you die in my damn arms.” 

“Daryl,” she says softly and his whole body is trembling now, except for the hands on the crossbow. “I told you there are still good people in this world. I found one. It looks like you did too. There’s still good things in the world. I can be one of them.”

Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, Daryl lowers the crossbow, letting it clatter to the ground, the turmoil clear on his face. Beth waits him out, seemingly okay with everything. And just when Morgan isn’t sure what’s going to happen, Daryl crosses the few paces between them and grabs Beth’s small face with his two large hands. She doesn’t move, just lets him tilt her face up so that he can inspect every inch of it. 

One finger comes up to gently trace the bullet scar before sliding back into her hair, right to the spot where Morgan knows is the exit wound, still healing. Daryl’s chest heaves but Beth is still, letting him do this. Aaron has stopped inching forward, just like Morgan has stopped moving as well. They both know, instinctually, that this is okay. That neither party means the other harm, but Morgan wonders if harm isn’t going to happen anyways. 

“Nah.” there’s wonder in Daryl’s voice now, wonder and heartbreak and a whole mess of other things that Morgan can’t even begin to puzzle out. “I don’t get this. Not me.” 

“Why not?” Beth asks him simply. “Because you think you don’t deserve it? Because you think that you’re not good enough, Daryl? Think that you don’t get to have people came back? People do come back, Daryl. I get to come back. I get to come back to you, because you do deserve this. You deserve me.” 

Morgan feels like it’s spoken like a declaration of love. There’s something about how Beth’s eyes are shimmering, the twist of her mouth, the way that her hands rest on Daryl’s shoulders. He has the sense that there is something there, something that runs deep and true between the two of them. And it reminds him of his wife, of everything that they had before all this and his own lips start to turn upwards. 

“I can’t,” Daryl mutters, pressing his forehead to hers like he’s been defeated, brought to his knees by this girl. 

“Daryl.” she tilts her head up so that their noses press together, breathing the exact same air, like their lips are going to whisper over the other’s. “You are good. You are. You deserve everything.” 

“Not you,” he whispers, anguish. “Not after all I fucked up.” 

“Hey. This world is messy. This world is hard. We both messed up. Can we agree to that?” she asks him softly and slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nods. “And can we agree to give each other a little bit of grace?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes and she smiles, closing her eyes and sighing a long, wavering breath. 

“Missed you,” she tells him and then Daryl’s whole body convulses and he wraps his arms around Beth and pulls her tightly into his chest. Beth buries her face in his neck and she’s shaking too, the kind of shaking that Morgan knows is from deep, body wracking sobs, the kind that come all the way up from your stomach and rip through your chest and then tear up your throat on the way out. 

_Catharsis._

He and Aaron stand side by side and watch this scene together, this moment where two people are being fused back into the place where they belong. And when they finally break apart, Morgan sees that Beth's smiling so widely it looks like it’s gonna split her face in two and Daryl looks shellshocked, one hand still holding Beth’s. She gives a little wince at the light and Morgan opens his mouth to tell her to put back on her mask but Daryl is already there, a finger swiping over her cheek once more. 

“You okay?” he asks her, lowly and urgently. 

“Just a headache. Get them, from the light,” she explains and he nods, bending down to lift the mask back up for her. Morgan smiles, glad to see someone taking care of her. 

“C’mon,” Daryl orders to the still stunned Aaron and Morgan. “Gotta get her back, gotta tell her family she’s alright.” 

“Wait.” Morgan steps forward. “I’m looking for —"

“I know,” Daryl cuts him off, sliding his arm over Beth’s shoulders. “But if you wanna find Rick Grimes, you better come back with us, cause he’s behind them big walls we were telling you about.” 

Stunned and flabbergasted, Morgan follows Daryl, who walks the entire way with his arm around Beth Greene’s shoulders, keeping her close. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter is centered around the fact that canonically it has been like a month since grady and daryl would be shocked, surprised, and happy, but he hasn't had too long to wallow in his grief, plus the saviors haven't happened yet. 
> 
> so mostly shock and disbelief and happiness, in the sense of daryl. 
> 
> also, if you want to leave a comment, tell me when you'd most like beth to come back - it's a poll for science (science being a fic i'm trying to figure out how to write) 
> 
> cheers!!!


	6. Frankie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if... 
> 
> Beth was a Savior?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright. here's the deal. season 7? TRASH. negan and the saviors? TRASH. everything about that storyline? TRASH.
> 
> that being said...
> 
> this fic is literally every beth trope ever and i had to write it. it's a classic.

"Hey Scars." Frankie looks up when the woman walks into the room from where she'd been drawing, sitting around with the other wives. "What's going on?" the whole complex has been in an uproar all day, people going every which way. 

"Negan's taking everyone out to deal with some new group in the woods," their bodyguard states, looking at her, Tanya, and Sherry critically. "I'm staying with you." 

"Night off?" Tanya glances up with a smile. "Well, you know what they say about when the cat's away." 

Yeah, the mice fucking behave or risk getting their skulls caved in with a fucking baseball bat. 

"Girl's night?" Frankie jokes and Scars shrugs. Frankie goes to get a bottle of wine. She knows that Scars won't ever drink with them, but that doesn't mean she won't take the chance to get drunk, especially if Negan isn't coming back to decide who he's taking to his bed tonight. 

"Gonna play your favorite game?" Sherry asks with a touch of snideness. Frankie wants to roll her eyes. Sherry's still new to this, to the fact that there ain't shit else to do. 

"What do you say, Scars?" she starts passing out the glasses of wine, skipping the bodyguard as usual. "You up for another round of what the fuck was Scars before all this?" 

"Doesn't matter to me." the woman sits down and pulls out a knife, running the sharpener down the edge of the blade. "Never fucking has." 

And that's the whole point of the game. 

They'd started it when she'd first arrived. A group from an outpost had found her wandering the woods, with a bow and her knives, feral and snarling and wild, her face covered in scars and not a single memory besides the fact that she'd dug herself out of a shallow grave with a bullet wound in her skull. 

Negan had thought that was the most bad-ass thing he'd ever heard and had promptly taken a liking to her. Didn't want her for a wife; no, he wanted her to guard his wives. Said that it was like putting a killer hen in the hen house instead of a fox. Negan doesn't like other men looking at his wives, doesn't like anyone who would flirt with them or touch them. And Scars never does. 

Scars only thinks about killing or being killed. 

She'd shaved all her blonde hair off, down to a fuzzy stubble over her scarred head. Negan likes it better that way, given that it highlights the collage of markings on her face. The curve on her cheekbone, the line above the opposite eyebrow, and then there on her hairline, the puckered circle from a bullet entering and exiting her skull. As Negan had said, she's tough as fucking shit. 

And she can't recall anything from before her injury, which the doctor says is normal; long term memories and brain trauma are fickle things, that something or anything could spark her and bring them all back. Frankie and Tanya have been trying ever since she'd gotten here, partially as a game and partially because they're genuinely curious how a girl that can't even be 20 yet, who is small and thin and scarred, can be deadly with a knife and a gun and a crossbow. It's more fun than thinking about their own lives, distracting themselves by wondering who the hell this girl was before this world, if she was normal or made into this by the chaos outside. 

"Alright, here I go." Tanya starts, swallowing a huge glug of wine. "How about... Motocross racer?" 

"What?" Frankie demands and Sherry rolls her eyes, turning away from them to go look out the window and brood. "Why?" 

"Cause the other day she got on the back of Julio's bike like it was nothing." Tanya shrugs, lounging on the couch. "Seemed really comfortable with it, really natural. Like she'd done it before. So I was thinking... Motocross." 

They all look at Scars, even a reluctant Sherry. Scars raises her light blue eyes up to them, still cold and withdrawn as always. Frankie lifts an eyebrow and then Scars shakes her head. "Nope. Nothing." 

"Damn." Tanya sits back, with a little sigh of defeat. 

"Maybe she was some biker's old lady," Frankie suggests, thinking that's way more likely than a fucking motocross racer. 

"She's barely legal now, no way she was before the turn," Tanya protests. 

"How many guys do you know that'd let that stop them?" Frankie shoots back. "Let alone someone in a damn biker gang." 

"Don't think I can drive a bike," Scars tells them, frowning slightly like she's actually thinking hard about this. "Just felt comfortable riding them." 

"Mhmm." Frankie taps her chin thoughtfully. "Alright, add it to the list then." 

They've been keeping a running tally on a legal pad of everything they've learned about Scars. It's a woefully short list. 

_Shot in the head_

_Southern accent_

_Virginia (important?)_

_Likes a crossbow_

_Best with a handgun_

_Hates peas_

Tanya walks over and scrawls down _'can ride motorcycles'_ down on the pad before looking back at Scars. 

Nothing about a family. Hell, she doesn't even know her own name. Just answers to Scars because that's what Negan calls her and she doesn't need anything else. Nothing about where she's from, who her family might be, how old she is, where she was before or after the turn, how she got here, not even why she was shot. Just that whoever she was is gone and this girl, this 'Scars' was reborn in the red dirt. 

"I can go get some food from the kitchen again," Tanya offers. "See if there's any other food you hate." 

"Nah," Scars scoffs, still sharpening her knife. "Those damn peas were awful. I'm not giving you an excuse for trying anything else on me." 

"Alright, then what else?" Tanya folds her arms, tapping her high-heeled foot thoughtfully. "Maybe a dancer or a gymnast?" 

"Reasoning?" Frankie demands, swirling her wine in the glass and Tanya shrugs. 

"Thin, short. Maybe cause she was training or something. She's got the build for it." 

"I can hardly touch my toes," Scars informs them with an eye-roll and Tanya sighs. 

"Alright. You're just strong is all." Tanya takes another drink. 

"Yeah, have you seen the way she draws that crossbow?" Frankie gestures to her and the weapon behind her. Scars never goes anywhere without her crossbow, black with red streaks running through it. She's deadly with the thing. "She's gotta be." 

"This is fucking pointless," Sherry mutters from her perch looking out on the cold, dark night and Frankie looks at her. 

"Yeah?" she tilts her head. "You got somewhere else to be though? Something else to do?" 

She doesn't. None of them do. That's the thing. That's why they sit here and play this stupid fucking game, with a person who doesn't care about anything at all, who doesn't know who she is. Because there's nothing else to do when Negan isn't here to chatter at them and crack jokes and set them all on edge. Nothing else to do. Nowhere else to go. 

So might as well play this game. 

* * *

"Hey. Dwight." Scars' voice has a way of traveling across the entire cafeteria. Frankie stops, same as everyone else and they all look over at the commanding tone from the diminutive woman. Scars is standing behind Dwight, looking at him with her shaved head tilted slightly to the side, like a dog who's caught the scent of something. Frankie doesn't even bother to continue grabbing her food, not when there is such amusement to behold. 

"Scars," Dwight mutters, nodding to her with his eyes downcast. 

"Where'd you get the crossbow?" she asks pointedly and Dwight's eyes flicker up at her. The crossbow in question is a black thing with white checkered print, with a few green and orange arrows in the holder. Nothing special, at least not to Frankie's eyes but she's never been an expert in crossbows, not like Scars.

"Some asshole in the woods. Why?" Dwight looks pretty cagey about it, but of course, anyone else would be after getting half their face burned off. Dwight had came back to the compound with a bike, that bow, and a wife he had to turn over to Negan just for them to live. Frankie's never wondered about who they must've encountered during their failed escape attempt. She's never wondered because it doesn't matter to her, not in the grand scheme of things.

"Dwighty-boy," comes a chiding voice and everyone in the room stops, turns, and kneels, all at once. Negan strides in, all smiles, with that cursed bat resting against his shoulder. He heads right for the pair that had been making the noise, sauntering through the frozen crowd with cocky ease. "Now that is no way to talk to a lady. I mean, not that Scars is really a lady, per say... But still." 

"Sorry," Dwight mumbles from his position on the floor and Negan turns his gaze to Scars. 

"Now tell me, what's the fuss?" he asks with a fond gaze and Scars shrugs. 

"Like the crossbow, that's all," she states, looking at the weapon slung on Dwight's back and Negan's eyes swing back to the scarred man.

"You hear that, D?" his eyes twinkle in the way that they do when he's especially manic. It makes Frankie shiver, makes her want to run. But there's no point in running, not when there's not anything to run to. "Scars likes that bow. So why don't you be a gentleman and give it to her?" 

"I--" Dwight looks like he's going to argue. Looks like he's going to fight it. Frankie tenses but then Dwight seems to remember just who he's talking to, just what place he's in and so he shrugs the thing off and simply hands it to Scars, who takes it without any form of joy or glee. Dwight might have been handing her socks or a dog toy, from the lack of reaction it inspires in her. 

"Thank you," Scars says flatly and everyone knows that she's not thanking Dwight, but Negan. The man himself gives her a brilliant smile and strides off, whistling. 

And that night, Frankie sees Scars stroking the crossbow with a frowning expression, like she's puzzled by the very idea of it. 

* * *

"What the shit is that noise?" Scars demands furiously, sticking her head out of the hallway and looking back and forth. The strains of music drift up to them, bouncing off the concrete walls and reaching them clearly enough for them to know it's been the same song on repeat for hours now. 

"Dwight," Sherry mutters and everyone looks at her; Frankie, Tanya, Scars, even Amber the new girl. The new wife. "He's, uh, got someone in the cells from that new group, the one he was out to get the other night."

"I don't give a shit if he's torturing someone; at this point, he's just torturing us," Scars complains, slamming the door shut with a vengeance and Sherry shrugs. The melody of the music still manages to penetrate the door, lingering in the fringes of their conversations.

"Take it up with Negan then. His orders." 

They all know she won't. Scars never questions Negan. 

"Pick a new fucking song then," she grumbles, slumping back down and picking up her bow again. Tanya glances at the notepad, a sly smile curling up the corners of her mouth. 

"Hates Easy Street. Think we should add that to the list?" 

"That's not a trait, that's just having common fucking sense," Frankie retorts with a grin and Scars almost smiles. Almost. 

"Either way, he's only got so long before I'm ending it," she states flatly. "Don't care who he's trying to break in there, not when he's going to piss off the rest of us doing it." 

"Good luck," Sherry mutters. 

* * *

"Do you smoke?" Frankie asks Scars, as the two of them stare out over the yard. Frankie came here sometimes, when she needed to remember the feel of sunshine on her face and wind in her hair. Had to ignore the snarl of walkers when she did it, but sometimes she could almost pretend that things were back to normal. Almost believes it, except for the fact that she has a bodyguard watching her every movie. 

"Dunno," Scars mutters, looking down at her long, thin fingers. "Never tried." 

"Go ahead." Frankie offers her one without glancing over at her companion. "I never did, before this. Thought it would ruin my lungs and give me wrinkles. Pretty pointless worrying about that shit now though, isn't it? In this world?" 

"Guess so." Scars lights the thing and takes an inhale before coughing out the smoke. Frankie grins and claps her on the back, hard, as Scars splutters. 

"Not a smoker," she assumes and Scars finishes hacking up a lung, shaking her head. 

"Guess not." she takes a little sniff, a thoughtful look on her face, slowly turning into a frown. "Smells familiar though." 

"Bet you had somebody in your life that smoked," Frankie guesses with a faint smile, thinking of how her father always smelled like Virginia Slims. She remembers being six years old and him enfolding her in a bear hug, his laughter rumbling through his chest and her entire body. She left her home and her father to go 'find herself' and then the world ended. She never saw him again. "It's a disgusting smell in a house, but when it's on a person that you know and love? Kinda nice." 

"Yeah." Scars looks down at the cigarette in her hand, still burning. "Maybe." 

"Maybe smell will help bring something back," Frankie suggests lightly. "Smell is usually tied to pretty strongly to our memories." 

"What's there to smell here, besides the dead and the unwashed?" Scars grumbles, putting out the cigarette on the railing and dropping the butt down into the yard carelessly. "Think I'm gonna smell some roses and remember who I am?" 

"Maybe." Frankie watches as some of the other Saviors load up a truck, including dragging the dark haired prisoner behind them, in the beige sweats that are already turning filthy. Probably off to go pick up from Hilltop or the Kingdom, though she's not sure why they'd take a prisoner with them for that. Maybe to show off their cruelty. Frankie doesn't pretend to even want to know what Negan's strategy is. "Do you even want to remember?" 

"Think it'd be okay if I didn't," she replies tonelessly, unblinking with those blue eyes. "Whoever I was, died. Didn't have anybody looking for me, waiting for me. Must not've mattered. So why bother trying to remember?"

"But they buried you," Frankie says, a bit sadly. "That means something. Means someone cared." 

"But I'm still dead," Scars replies flatly, putting out Frankie's cigarette as well and flicking the thing into the yard. "Now c'mon. Back inside. Negan's gone, I'm in charge." 

"Of course." Frankie watches the truck disappear, sighing heavily. 

* * *

The gunfire from the inner yard makes everyone jump. Scars is on her feet instantly, the crossbow from Dwight already up and ready while Frankie, Tanya, Amber, and Sherry all shrink back and look at each other in mute shock and fear. It's not unusual for there to be gunfire here, but that sounds like semi-automatic. And that is shit that Negan usually doesn't fuck with, or let anyone else fuck with. 

"Stay here," Scars orders them in a sharp and commanding tone and Frankie glances at Amber and Tanya, both of whom look startled, then at Sherry. She's not startled, not anymore. She's just impassive, as always. Scars slips out, locking the door behind her. 

"Think it's something bad?" Tanya asks her, once they've all sat in silence for a second and Frankie shrugs, exhaling a breath and clasping her shaking hands together. No matter what it is, it's not going to be enough to end Negan or any of this shit. Nothing ever is. 

"Think any of it matters?" 

"Nope," Tanya huffs, sitting back down on the couch, crossing her legs and kicking her heels up on the table. "Cause nothing matters." 

That's a point they can all agree on. 

So they sit. And wait. For nothing. For anything. 

"Everything's fine," Scars tells them when she gets back, the door opening and everyone's heads snap up at once. The crossbow is still on her back and her knives still on her belt, guns on her thighs and a tight expression on her face. "Guess the shipment had a stowaway. Some kid." 

"A kid had a semi-auto?" Frankie raises an eyebrow, impressed, and Scars shrugs, taking up her perch by the door. 

"Guess so." 

"Then what the hell is—" Tanya exchanges shocked looks with Frankie and then cuts herself off when the doors open again and Negan strides in, grinning widely at all of them. In an instant, everyone's eyes drop to the floor, away from the man.

"Ladies. Don't mind the kid," he says jovially, then turns to said kid with a grin and a suggestive eyebrow raise. "I know. Every woman where you're from dresses like they do the books at an auto shop. You're gonna want to look at their titties. It's cool. I won't mind. They won't mind. Knock yourself out."

The kid looks to be a teenager. Long hair over a patched eye, and a ragged old cowboy hat on his head with a messy flannel. He should be looking at Frankie, or Tanya, or Amber. Ogling them. Frankie would peg him for 15, maybe 16 years old. A boy like that should be staring at her or any of the others with a dropped jaw. Tight black dresses and high heels, long legs and thin waists and soft, shiny hair? Yeah. He should be drinking his fill. 

But he's not. Instead, he's staring at Scars, who stares coldly right back. And he's not staring at her like she's something interesting or novel, because hard women with weapons and steel in their gaze are a dime a dozen in this day and age. Scars isn't even really that remarkable, except for the fact that she's taken a bullet to the skull, but he can't know that. And he's not staring at her with lust or longing or anything of that nature either, like Negan sometimes does. 

No. He looks stunned. He looks confused. He looks... Sad, Frankie thinks, his eyes tracking every move that she makes. And that's odd, because Scars is still scowling just as deeply as she's been doing this entire time, like she has no idea why the kid would be looking at her like that. Even when Negan presses a beer into his hands, the kid doesn't look away from her. And she might have been pretty once, or could be again, but not when she looks at him, half feral. 

Frankie thinks it's odd. Frankie's also a little bit worried that Negan is going to hurt Amber, so she decides to keep an eye on both things; Negan across from Amber and then this kid, staring at Scars like she's somehow going to solve all his problems.

No. He's got too many problems right now for that and Scars won't help at all. 

The plot thickens when Dwight walks in, dragging his new favorite toy behind him. Frankie's seen the guy around, on fence duty a few times. Looks like absolute hell, a mess of lanky, greasy hair and bruises covering every inch of him. But she sees everything, between Dwight looking at Sherry and Sherry refusing to look back at him. She sees how the kid looks at the prisoner, horror and sadness there. It's like reading a book with every other page missing or watching a movie on mute with no subtitles. Frankie could understand it, she just needs some more context around it. 

And then she sees the kid jerk his head towards Scars, almost an imperceptible movement. Frankie sees the prisoner's eyes flick up towards the woman. She watches as the prisoner shakes his head, just a tiny little bit and she's confused as hell, because why would they go after Scars? Why not start with Negan, or one of his important lieutenants? She's just a bodyguard. Surely she's not worth being taken out? 

Frankie's so busy trying to make sense of it, she hardly hears Negan giving the order to light up the furnace, though her stomach drops out. Reminds herself that none of this matters. None of it really matters. Why does it matter if some trigger happy kid has taken a shine to Scars, or that some nobody prisoner refuses to look at her? They have bigger things to worry about, starting with what Negan is going to do about Amber's little trysts. 

"Beth," the kid says loudly, as Negan turns to herd them out. He's still looking at Scars, like he expects something magical to happen. They all look at him in confusion, including Scars, who jerks like someone has threatened to physically hit her. 

"The hell you say?" Negan asks him, frowning, looking between the kid and Scars. "Beth?" 

"Nothing," the kid says back, defiantly. "Just thought she reminded me of someone is all." 

"Scars?" Negan sounds gleeful. "You found my pet pitbull, huh? Do you have a type, Carl? Trust me, she might be as cute as a kitten but she'll bite your damn dick off. Don't even think about that Carl. I don't even risk it."

And then he grabs the kid by the shoulder and steers him out of the room, Dwight and the prisoner following. And Frankie rushes to comfort Amber, and then notices that Scars is still standing there, frozen, staring at the door where a pair of angel wings had just disappeared through. 

* * *

"Don't make her watch this," Frankie begs Scars, as Negan grabs the hot iron from the fire. Sherry is holding Amber by the shoulders, muttering in her ear. "Please, don't." 

"She has to," Scars replies, monotone. And she's not even looking at Amber. She's staring at the kid from before and he's looking right at her. "We all have to." 

Frankie hates her as she wraps her arms around Amber and holds her as she sobs. 

Later that night, as Sherry tries to calm Amber down enough to sleep and Tanya keeps pouring them drinks, Frankie turns to look at Scars. She's sitting by the door, crossbow in her lap, frowning at it, her long, slim fingers drifting over every curve and line of it. 

"Beth," Frankie tries out and Scars looks up at her, wide eyed before it quickly shifts into a glare. Frankie presses on though, undeterred. This is the best chance they've had, some indication that she'd been someone before she'd became Scars. "Do you think that's your name? Do you think that kid knows you?" 

"No," the young woman says, quickly. Then she snags her finger on the string of the bow, testing it, doubt coming over her face, frustration and fear in her tone. "I mean... Maybe. Who knows? Or it's all a trick. Negan messing with me. Somehow."

"And why would he do that?" Frankie asks her pointedly and Scars struggles to come up with an answer. 

"I don't think I'm Beth," she mutters, rubbing her forehead, fingers drifting over the bullet scar. "I don't think I am. But..." 

Frankie doesn't know what Scars is so afraid of, by remembering. But Frankie remembers everything, so she guesses that maybe she doesn't understand the bliss that is forgetting. And as much as Frankie doesn't like the woman, she can't really hate her either. Whoever she was, she took a bullet to the skull and was buried and left. Maybe remembering would hurt more than forgetting. So Frankie shrugs and goes back to Amber, gently smoothing the girl's hair back and trying to shush her to sleep. 

"Alright, I think she should be out," Tanya mutters, when Amber slumps back, eyes rolling, in her bed. 

"Thank god." Frankie rubs her temples, emotionally exhausted from the entire day. All she wants is a strong glass of wine, or maybe a joint, or maybe something stronger. And it would be really nice to take a nap and never wake up, but that's not an option here. "I thought she'd never shut up." 

"Hey, Sherry," Scars says slowly from her spot by the door and the woman looks up, frowning. "The guy. Dwight's prisoner. What's his name?" 

"Daryl." Sherry's mouth twists, either in sadness or anger. Frankie isn't really sure anymore. "Said his name was Daryl. He had a motorcycle, that bow, and some story about a community of good people." 

"Daryl." Scars looks confused, like the word is unfamiliar in her mouth. "And... That vest, was that his too?" 

"Yeah." now Sherry looks bewildered, staring at Scars with her head tilted to the side. "How'd you..." 

Scars gets up and walks away without a glance back. 

* * *

Frankie awakes to the acute sense that something is deeply, deeply wrong. She sits up with a gasp, or what is an attempt at a gasp, until she realizes that there's a gag in her mouth that prevents that. And her hands are bound. And so are her feet. 

She looks left and sees that Sherry and Tanya are also awake, staring at her in shock, both in similar predicaments. To her right is a still unconscious Amber, bound as well. And there, in front of them, sits Scars with her crossbow aimed directly at them. 

Well. This is how she dies, Frankie guesses, strangely calm with the predicament. At least it means no more Negan. Mostly, she wonders at the mystery of why. 

"Listen to me. Quickly," Scars orders and Sherry says something, muffled but angry as hell. "I've killed Negan." 

That gets their attention. That causes absolute silence to fall, all three of them staring at the woman in front of them with something like horror and fear and doubt and maybe... Joy? 

"I've killed Negan, I've killed Simon, I've killed every single one of the men that I think would stay here and cause problems. Sherry, I've left Dwight alive. But you have to take him and go, because if I ever see him again, I will kill him. And tell him to leave the fucking vest. Tanya, Frankie, I'll take you both with me, if you want to go. To one of the communities, wherever. Mark's alive, but he needs the doctor to recover. So I'm going to leave Amber here. When he recovers, he'll take care of her. They'll be fine." 

Then she stands up and reaches over, removing Tanya's gag so the woman can hiss, "what the hell?" 

Scars doesn't smile. Frankie has never, ever seen her smile before in her entire time here. But after a moment, the woman's lips start to curl up into an wholly unfamiliar expression. "I remember who I am. Or I think I do. Not enough. Not everything. But enough to remember that I owe my life to Daryl. To Rick and to Carl. So I'm getting him out. And I've ended it. I've ended everything." 

"Holy shit," Sherry breathes, when Scars removes her gag. She keeps blinking, like she's trying to take all of this in and keeps failing. Or maybe that's just how Frankie feels. "Who... Who are you then?" 

"I think I'm Beth," the woman says simply and Frankie recalls the kid, the one with the hat, and the strange expression of hope on his face as he'd called out her name. Obviously he knows her somehow. And that means she is someone, with people who care after all. "Now c'mon." 

They go as a little group, on quiet feet down towards the dorm rooms, heading straight towards Dwight's. Sherry is trembling but Scars — Beth — stops her before she can open the door and Sherry looks up, wide eyed and clearly worried that it's a trap. Wouldn't be the cruelest thing that Negan's ever done to them; it'd be right up his twisted little alley in fact. But Frankie doesn't think so. 

"Please," Sherry begs, white knuckling the doorknob with a pained expression. "Please." 

"The vest, different clothes, and the keys to his bike," Beth orders with a glint in her eyes, "and I better never see him again. Or I will kill him Sherry, for what he's done to Daryl and the rest of my family." 

"Okay," Sherry says, swallowing hard and nodding, pushing open the door quietly. "Okay." 

And thirty seconds later, just Sherry's hand emerges from the crack in the door with a ragged leather vest clutched in her pale hand and some other clothes. Beth snatches it away and then turns for the cells, not noticing that Tanya and Frankie still trail behind her. Frankie is going with her because anywhere is going to be better than here, once everyone wakes up and finds Negan dead and chaos erupts. Tanya probably has similar reasoning so Frankie finds her arm and squeezes. Beth grabs the keys hanging from a hook and goes to one cell, unlocking it, kneeling down and urging in the gentlest, calmest voice she's ever heard from Beth, "Daryl, c'mon." 

The man that crawls into the light looks battered as hell. He looks awful, bloodied and bruised and broken. But he looks up at Beth and somehow, he worsens, looking like he just got kicked or punched somewhere soft and tender, his chin wobbling and a fresh tear dropping from his eye. 

"You ain't her," he mutters, like it's around a swollen jaw, blue eyes downcast. 

"Maybe not," Beth says with her own raspy voice, offering him the vest and the crossbow, still squatting beside him. "But I'm going to try to be, if I can remember. Now c'mon. Before this place wakes up and realizes what I've done." 

Daryl looks up at her, tears still tracking down his cheeks and cutting through the grime there. Beth doesn't say a single world, just watches him patiently. Frankie finds herself holding her breath, wondering if they'll get some sort of explanation. But Daryl doesn't reach for Beth, doesn't embrace her or say anything, and Beth does the same. They just stare at each other, like they're gauging the other. Then slowly, Daryl reaches out and takes up the crossbow, the one Beth demanded from Dwight. And Beth just nods, a tiny little nod of acceptance before helping Daryl to his feet.

They all flee together. Up the stairs from the cells, down the quiet hallways, and into the cool night. Frankie wishes that she had thought to grab warmer clothes because a little black dress won't do shit. Then, like she's heard her, Beth throws her jacket back at Frankie's head without looking and they're in the parking lot, Tanya looking around at their location with a shocked expression on her face. 

"Holy shit," Tanya mutters, her hand finding Frankie's and grips it tightly. "Holy shit, holy shit." 

"These are the keys to your bike." Beth presses something into Daryl's hand and the man looks at her, his bruised eyes still somehow stretched wide. "I don't know who I am. But I know that I'm someone. I'm someone, to you. And you're someone to me. Will you take us home? Will you trust me?" her voice breaks slightly on the last word, desperation finally flooding through her as she looks at the keys Daryl now holds.

Before he can answer, the door behind them opens and out stumbles Fat Joey, drunk and already pulling down his fly for a piss. Before any of them can react, Beth lunges forward and drags her knife across the man's throat, dropping him to his knees. For a second, he doesn't even seem to register the fact that it's happening; then he gives a little whimper and Beth plunges her knife into his skull and yanks it out. Frankie doesn't even make a sound as Beth reaches down into the dead man's belt and pulls out a large, silver gun, staring at it for a moment like it's an old friend. 

The look on Daryl's face when she offers him it with a quizzical expression is one of heartbreak. 

"Yeah," he grunts finally in a rough voice, "I'd trust ya." 

That seems to be enough. She tosses him the gun and he tucks it in his waistband, backing the bike out of its place in the line. Frankie opens her mouth to ask what the hell they're going to do when Tanya grabs the keys to another bike and hops on it. Frankie glances at her with a stunned expression. 

"The motocross might've been some self projection," she admits and Frankie climbs on the back with her first laugh since she'd had the misfortune of meeting Negan.

* * *

They go to a place called Alexandria. It's like what Frankie had dreamed of, before the Sanctuary, before Negan. A community. And when they roll in through the gates, with two motorcycles and Beth covered in blood and Daryl looking like he's been hit by an 18 wheeler and two women in skintight black dresses with high heels, everyone looks at them like they've lost it, weapons right up. 

Beth tells them what she's done. She says it without remorse or regret. And she was smart about it too; Frankie knows from the names that she lists off that the only ones left alive are those who will either be too cowardly to take control or those who never really wanted shit to be the way it was anyways. She's given people a chance to leave, escape, or maybe stay and make things better than it had been before.

Everyone stares at them in silence as the sky around them straights to lighten. And then the kid from before — Carl — asks her in a tiny, trembling voice, _"Beth?"_

And the young woman takes a deep, shuddering breath, reaches up and touches the bullet scar on her pale forehead and a tear tracks down her face unbroken she doesn't even know that it's there. 

"I think so," she whispers. "Maybe." 

* * *

"Hi." Frankie sits down next to Beth in the gazebo, smiling at her. Beth smiles back and it's still a slightly odd thing to see on a face that Frankie previously only thought could scowl, but it's a nice thing. Makes her look younger. The fact that she's no longer garbed in leather helps too; now she mostly wears flannels and jeans with boots and a new knife on her hip, one with a bone white handle. 

"Hello." Beth is writing, scribbling something on a legal pad. And Frankie smiles to realize it's the one from the Sanctuary, just added on now. 

_Shot in the head - by Dawn at Grady Memorial Hospital_

_Southern accent - Georgia, born in Senoia, raised on daddy's farm_

_Virginia ( ~~important?)~~ \- Noah's family_

_Likes ~~a crossbow~~ Daryl's crossbow_

_Best with a handgun_

_Hates peas_

_Can ride a motorcycle - with Daryl_

_Sister - Maggie_

_Brother - Shawn_

_Daddy - Hershel_

_Mama - Annette_

_Brother - Glenn_

_Nephew - Hershel Rhee_

_Beth Annette Greene_

_Big sister to Carl and Judith_

_Likes to sing and play piano_

_Likes dogs_

_Favorite movie was Dirty Dancing_

_Good at writing_

_Has a family_

_Is loved_

"Your list is looking better and better," Frankie remarks and Beth gives a little huff, not quite laughter but maybe something close. 

"Everyone's been helping me get stuff back," she remarks, then runs her fingers through the short cropping of hair that she has grown out. "Maggie said I used to do a lot of braids. Gonna be awhile before I can try though." 

"You can practice on me anytime," Frankie volunteers and Beth smiles at her. 

"Thanks." she tapers off into silence and Frankie sits with her, enjoying the sound of the bugs and the chatter of people drifting by before Beth speaks again, her voice hesitant. "Do you, uh, hate me? For who I was back there?" 

"Who, Scars?" Frankie asks lightly and Beth winces. 

"Yeah." she sounds like it's hard to swallow. "Her." 

"No. How can I? She killed Negan. She got me out of there. She ended the Saviors, or at least ended enough of them that everything went to shit for the rest. She got me here. And she did keep me safe." 

Frankie has a lot of complicated feelings about Beth and Scars and Negan and the Sanctuary. She's been trying to sort them all out, since Beth killed Negan and they'd fled to Alexandria. Part of her is sad for the people who died when the Sanctuary fell, but she's even gladder for those who have made their way here and have been taken in by the other Alexandrians. And she loves her life now. Wouldn't trade it for anything, even if it comes with the memories of the past that haunt her at every turn. But none of this would be possible without Beth, and without Scars as well, one and the same.

"She kept you obedient and trapped with a guy that raped her," Beth says darkly and Frankie reaches over, grabbing her hand. 

"Who you were back there? That was all survival," she reminds her. It's what she and Tanya having been talking about lately, dealing with their own self hatred for being Negan's slaves. "That was people taking advantage of you when you didn't know any better. You didn't have your memories. And those make a person. Are they all back?" 

"No," Beth sighs, thin shoulders slumping. "And the doctor says they might never be. I have more now though. Maggie's been reminding me of a lot of stuff from our childhood. And I've been singing again, that helps a lot of it come back. But I know there's gaps and the doctor said I might not ever get all of them back. I just have to be okay with it.” 

“So what is Beth like?” Frankie asks her, nudging her shoulder. 

“Happier,” Beth admits with a tiny smile. “More hopeful. More faithful. Lighter and brighter. She was good. She was way more innocent and delicate than I am, but that might be nice. She would never do help the stuff I do. She was good.” 

“You’re still good,” Frankie tells her and Beth chuckles, but it's sad. 

“I think it’d be really easy just to separate them out in my head,” she admits after a pause, looking down at her hands. “You know, pretend that it was someone else, that I’m innocent in all of this. Make it into someone else's fault, But it wasn’t. I am both of them. I have to reconcile that.”

“We all do.” Frankie catches her hand and squeezes. “Are you happier, now?” 

“Yeah,” Beth answers without hesitation. “Of course I am. I’m back with my family, you know? Back with the people who care about me but I wonder if they look at me differently. If they think I’m a monster now. I mean, what I did back there, the men that I killed? The way I just... Did it, without any hesitation? Slitting their throats, sending arrows through them?” 

“But how many more did you save?” Frankie cuts her off. “Me, Tanya, Dwight, Sherry, everyone else. You saved us all by killing Negan and his men. You saved everyone who was stuck in that stupid place, in that stupid system. You broke that. You did.” 

“I changed,” Beth says simply, looking off into the distance. “I used to think that was a good thing, but now I’m sometimes not so sure.” 

“It is,” Frankie tells her and she has to believe it to herself as well. “It is.” 

They sit in silence for a little bit longer, until footsteps come up the side of the gazebo. It’s Daryl and Frankie gives him a smile that he returns by way of grimace. He’s looking a lot better than he had after his time in the cell with Dwight. He's mostly healed but still as cagey and standoffish as ever. Yet when he looks at Beth, his shoulders lose all of the tension in them and Frankie gets the sense he might be able to smile. 

“Hey,” he says softly to Beth and she smiles up at him, a radiant sort of smile that Frankie has never, ever seen on her face. 

“Hi you.” 

“I’ll get going.” Frankie stands and brushes her jeans off, smiling at Beth as she walks away, wrinkling her nose at the faint smell of smoke that clings to Daryl. She pauses on the far side of the gazebo, just to listen. Listen as Daryl settles in next to Beth, hands her a CD player. 

“Found summa the songs you used to sing a lot,” he’s muttering, “stuff ya knew.” 

“Thanks. Are you gonna listen to it with me?” Beth asks and there’s a groan before a grumbled, 

“Yeah, suppose I can.” 

Frankie walks away and when she looks back, Beth and Daryl are sitting side by side, each with an earbud in. Their shoulders brush and Frankie can tell by the angle that their fingers are intertwined. She smiles, turning and heading back down the road to the pantry. Beth, Scars, a mixture of the two, whoever she is, the woman is going to be just fine. Because she’s got Daryl. They have each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay a brief note that i loved frankie and she deserved better. and while i feel a lot of conflicted feelings about badass beth, i do think it would have been interesting for us to see what a memory-less beth would have been like. 
> 
> OKAY. next week we drop some of the angst because... ba dum bum... IT'S MAGGIE.
> 
> reviews are the BEST and i want nothing more than to rant to you guys about all my bethyl feels.


	7. Maggie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if... 
> 
> It wasn't just Maggie waiting for Daryl at Hilltop after he escapes Negan and Dwight's imprisonment?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me just say for the hundreth time that season 7 was AWFUL and this is the last chapter set in that era 
> 
> but
> 
> i wanted to explore what it would be like for daryl and beth at the very depth of daryl's pain, which is him post torture. i'll handle him more gently after this, i swear!!!

Daddy had always says what the universe takes, it will give back. Maggie had believed that as a kid because it seemed simple to do that. Yeah, she had to eat vegetables for supper. But usually she got a big slice of chocolate cake for dessert. Or she had to do her homework, but if she got good grades, daddy always made sure she got a special surprise at the end of the school year, like a new bike. 

The universe takes. The universe gives back. 

The universe takes away any semblance of normality and fills it with the walking dead. The universe gives her a soulmate in the form of a one Glenn Rhee. 

The universe takes away safety and sanctuary, takes away her father. The universe gives her back her Glenn. 

The universe takes away her sister. The universe gives her back a safe haven. 

The universe takes Glenn from her, for good this time. 

And then the universe gives her back her sister from the dead and Maggie weeps. 

The group on the walls had let them in, even though Gregory had said not to. People aren’t listening to him anymore and it should make Maggie nervous, but it doesn’t. There were men like Gregory in the old world. There are men like Gregory in this world. There will always be men like Gregory, but Maggie’s dealt with them before. And so she steps out to greet the new people, wondering if they’re Saviors or what, only to have a shot of blonde hurtle at her, screaming, and grab Maggie in the tightest hug she’s ever felt. 

_Beth._

Their stories come out in a mess, right there on the lawn. 

Happy stories — Beth waking up in the hospital, Beth convincing a group to leave with her, Beth leading them through the wilderness to come towards Virginia and DC, Beth keeping everyone together, Beth being strong as hell and Beth recovering from a head wound and Beth finding herself and Beth growing, changing, learning. 

Sad stories — Glenn, Noah, Tyreese, everyone that they’ve lost. And Beth holds her as Maggie finally, finally breaks down and cries, because she’s being held by her sister and she can. They’re tears of sadness but some of joy too. For the baby inside her, for Beth becoming an auntie, for the good and the bad and the messy and the awful and the wonderful and Maggie thinks yes, the universe gives and takes. 

Introductions are made and even Gregory balks at turning away Maggie's long lost little sister, the one who rose from the dead. Introductions are made, to Enid, and then a reunion with Sasha that leaves everyone weeping, those who know them and even those who don't. And after, in their trailer, Maggie falls asleep in a small bed with Beth, their arms tangled together like when they were kids and things were easier. She sleeps and she doesn’t dream of baseball bats and blood. She has her sister back. She has her wonderful little sister back and that’s enough. 

“So,” Beth says in the morning, wiping away tears that still fall sporadically down her scarred face, “what do we do now?” 

“Dunno,” Maggie tells her, still holding her hand. Hasn’t let it go since Beth arrived. Can't quite believe she's real and sitting across from her. Her baby sister. “We’re just trying to get things sorted.” 

“But we’re gonna fight, right?” Beth’s lost some of that innocent sparkle in her eyes, the one she’d had in the prison. Maggie misses it, but there are parts of her that have been cut off to get her here so she understands that Beth isn't exactly who she was. Especially after what she's been through. And again, Maggie's eyes flick up to the scar that Beth hardly even seems to realize is there. 

“Maybe.” Maggie doesn’t want to ruin her hope, the fighting spirit that Beth hasn't lost. But Beth wasn't there in the clearing that night and Maggie cannot begin to explain to her what it was like. Worse than standing inside a prison fence, worse than anything Maggie has ever endured before. “Rick, he’s… He thinks it’ll be easier if we lay down and take it. Don’t want to lose anyone else.” 

“We’re always gonna lose people,” Beth states, with a trembling breath before squaring her shoulders, blonde hair tossed back to throw her scars into sharper relief. “That’s part of the deal. Trick is to try to lose as few as possible.” 

Maggie thinks that the trick might be to keep getting miracles where they came back, but that’s not a feasible plan for the long term so she is inclined to agree with Beth. 

“I’m gonna go up on the walls,” she tells her sister with a tight squeeze to her hands, “and watch out for Jesus. He’s a scout and scavenger for us. He’ll bring us word from Rick's group if there is any.” 

“I’m going to go talk to my group,” Beth tells her briskly and Maggie is so proud of her little sister, for everything she’s becoming, and she nods, tears in her eyes, and watches Beth’s blonde ponytail swing as she walks off. Maggie wonders if she’s going to ask them to fight for them. She hopes that she does. She hopes that they will. And the idea of losing Beth a second time around is terrifying, but it cannot seem to outweigh Maggie's need for vengeance. 

Maggie stands on the walls and looks out. She’s not really sure what she’s going to find out there, but she keeps looking. Keeps watch. Thinks about what needs to happen, what’s going to be coming, what will be asked of them to defeat Negan. About Beth coming back, the universe giving and taking. And she’s just wondering what else will be given and what else will be taken when she hears the rumble of a motorcycle. She looks towards the tree with a frown, wondering if it’s Negan or someone else. 

And when she sees the two figures on the bike, she stops breathing. 

“Open the gate! Open the gate!” Maggie cries, running for the ladder. She knows that she should stop this, take it easy, not cause any more stress on her body with the baby, but she couldn’t. She had to get down, she had to hurry, because she knows that bike, she knows the driver, she knows the rider. And Maggie wants to be there when they arrive, wants to be able to throw her arms around them. 

Jesus looks okay, driving the bike up the dirt path. 

Daryl on the back though. Daryl looks like _hell._

“We’re okay, we’re okay,” Jesus says, when he cuts the bike and Maggie rushes for them, wordless in wonder at how he’s got Daryl back to them and waiting, even subconsciously, for what’s going to come next. 

“Maggie?” Daryl rasps and she lets go of Jesus to pull him into her arms. He's shaking, from head to toe, in clothes that cannot be his own, missing his vest and his bow and everything else that made Daryl, Daryl. Worst of all is the horrified expression on his face, almost impossible to make out around the bruises that are both fresh and fading, like multiple beatings have occurred. “They said… You… Dead…”

“No, no, no,” she hushes him, realizing why he's so scared. Sasha and Enid told her of the lie their people at Alexandria had told Negan, saying that she was dead and buried so the Saviors would stop looking for her. But no one must have told Daryl that it was a trick, so she strokes his head and feels him shake in her arms. “I’m here. I’m alright. And the baby too. It was just a lie Daryl, one to keep us safe from Negan. It’s okay. I’m okay. We're okay.” 

And then she remembers Beth, the fact that she’s back, and she pulls back to tell Daryl, only —

“Daryl?”

Beth’s cry splits the air first and Maggie steps back, looking to see that Beth has stopped in the middle of the yard, looking stunned and baffled and a little bit scared, honestly. She’s looking at Daryl and Maggie might as well have ceased to exist. Beth's world is only Daryl Dixon, but Daryl drops to his knees beside her and Maggie sways slightly with the force of it, having still been leaning on him for support. 

“Nah,” Daryl mutters with a grimace, closing his eyes and grabbing either side of his battered head. His moans are pained. “Stop, stop, stop, stop…” 

“Hey, Daryl, you okay?” Jesus looks worried, bending down next to him, touching Daryl’s elbow and and the big man shakes him off, still mumbled around what seem to be hyperventilating sobs. 

“Ain’t her, ain’t her, ain’t her…” 

“Daryl?” Beth takes a few more steps forward, concern in every movement. 

“Stop!” he roars, eyes still screwed shut and his face contorted in anguish. “Don’t! No more!” 

“Hey, hey, Daryl, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Maggie says in alarm and Beth has stopped dead in her run to them. Heart breaking for her sister and her friend, Maggie waves Beth away. Whatever it is, Daryl’s reaction to her is one of pain, and he’s clearly in enough of that. 

Looking like she's going to shatter, Beth nods and disappears between two trailers, out of sight. 

“Hey, Daryl, c’mon,” Jesus mutters, slipping his hand under Daryl’s arm and helping him rise to his feet. “Let’s get you cleaned up. C’mon.” 

Maggie helps Jesus get Daryl to the house, where he can be cleaned up. When Jesus gives her the nod that he can handle it from here, she lets them go the rest of the way before turning back to the yard. Beth emerges from between the trailers, tears falling from her eyes as she slowly walks over to Maggie before her head falls and her shoulders shudder. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Maggie mutters, grabbing Beth in a hug and rubbing her back, trying to be soothing. 

“I ain’t upset, Maggie.” Beth pulls back and Maggie realizes the wetness on Beth's cheeks she’d taken for sadness earlier is really tears of rage. Up close, she can see how mad Beth is, how she tremblings and rests one hand on the gun in it's holster on her belt. “I'm _pissed._ Who did that to him?” 

“The people who killed Glenn,” Maggie says heavily. 

“What did they do to him?” Beth demands and Maggie gives a helpless shrug. She doesn’t know. She really doesn’t. But she remembers the clearing in the woods, can never forget it, and so she knows exactly what these people are capable of. Just what horrors they can bring. What Daryl must've endured. 

“I’m not sure,” she tells her honestly. 

“Was that why… Why didn't he remember me? Why would he react like that?” now the fear fades and sadness rushes in like a breaking wave to fill the space. Beth takes a deep, shaking breath and lays her head on Maggie's shoulder and Maggie finds herself wondering, yet again, what happened between Beth and Daryl in their time together, for both of them to react so strongly to the other. 

"I don't know," Maggie repeats and Beth presses the heels of her hands into her eyes for a brief moment before she stiffens and nods, like she's shoved everything down, eyes steely, face cold. Maggie blinks at the change before Beth turns on her heel and walks away. But she knows better than to follow, and whatever this is, Beth can handle it. Maggie has greater concerns, one being Daryl's wellbeing. She trusts that Beth will make the right call. 

"Hey," Jesus mutters, when he gets Daryl back to their trailer. The doctor has stitched up what he can, disinfected the rest, and given Daryl pain pills for everything that will simply take time to heal. Maggie knows they're not taken, because she knows Daryl. 

"Hey." Maggie stands instantly, helping lower Daryl to the bed. He grunts in protest but collapses anyways, moaning slightly. "He okay?" 

"Relatively," Jesus says, looking at Daryl in concern. He's clean, mostly, and back in normal clothes, but Maggie can see the cuts and bruises that must litter him, the tightness with which he holds himself. "Muttered something about this not being the worst he's ever had, which is the most concerning thing I've ever heard and want to talk about at a later time. But he's conscious. Barely." 

"Hey, Daryl?" Maggie leans over and rests a hand on Daryl's arm and he winches, pulling away. Maggie's heart stops then sinks. Her voice cracks when she asks him, "would you look at me? Please? Daryl?"

Daryl rolls over, sniffling, and the second his blue eyes meet hers, tears begin to fall. His chin wobbles and shakes and Maggie grabs his hands and squeezes, tears on her cheeks as well. And he opens his mouth, voice breaking. "I'm sorry. _I'm sorry."_

"It wasn't your fault," Maggie promises him and his face contorts in pain. She knows that look. She feels that pain. And she knows Daryl, knows what he does, knows what blame he lays on those big, broad shoulders of his. How he holds himself accountable for every single person that they've lost, burdens himself with the pain and grief they feel at each death. He can carry that weight, but he shouldn't have to.

"It was," he whispers back and Maggie shakes her head. 

"No. It wasn't. You're one of the good things in this world. That's what Glenn thought. And he would know, 'cause he was one of the good things too," she reminds him and Daryl takes a deep, shuddering breath. 

"I saw Beth," he tells her and Maggie's heart jumps a bit, her head coming up to let him know about her sister's miraculous return but then he continues, voice rough and raw. "In my cell... Always... And here... That's my fault too... Everyone's dying, and it's on me..." 

"No. No, Daryl, no," Maggie says firmly. "No, it's not your fault. None of it is your fault. I know you, Daryl, we know you." 

"Can't stop seeing her," he whispers, closing his eyes as the tears darken the fabric on the pillowcase. "Can't stop hearing her, can't get her out of my head, can't stop it. Kills me. Knowing she's gone. Knowing I did it. My fault. And... I miss her." 

Maggie opens her mouth to tell him everything, to tell him Beth is real and alive and okay and well. But then she stops. Brushes the hair off of his face with gently hands that avoid the bruises there. That's not her place. And so she tells him instead softly, "Daryl, you can rest now. You can rest." 

When she gets up and turns around, Beth is standing in the doorway of the trailer, stricken. Maggie opens her mouth, getting up to say something, anything, but then Beth flees and Maggie is forced to chase after her once again. Across the lawn. Up the stairs, to one of the further guard towers, the one that overlooks the forest. Maggie catches her there, standing on the platform with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Maggie stops herself from reaching out to her, but only just. 

"I heard everything," Beth says, her breath coming in sharp little gasps like she's got a stitch between her ribs. "He blames himself for what happened, Maggie. For me." 

"Daryl blames himself for everything," Maggie reminds her and Beth squeezes her eyes shut, tears tracking over both her cheeks, scarred and not. 

"He shouldn't blame himself for this," she mutters darkly. "It's all my fault." 

"It's nobody's fault," Maggie replies and Beth rolls her eyes, tears glistening there. 

"Maggie. The first decision that I ever made on my own — not daddy or mama, not you or Shawn, not Rick or Daryl — I got myself killed. And Daryl blames himself for that. I thought he'd be sad but... I didn't think he'd be like this. I didn't know it'd be like this." 

She sounds so hollow, so resigned. Maggie looks at her worriedly and sees not her little baby sister, but a grown woman who has loved and lost and grieved. And so she asks, very carefully, "Beth, what happened between you and Daryl?" 

"Nothing. Something." Beth's whole body shakes. _"Everything."_

"Oh," Maggie says softly, because she knows. She gets it. She understands it now. And she reaches out and pulls Beth into a hug and Beth sobs into her shoulder, finally letting herself go. 

Maggie's not sure how long they stand up on the guard tower, the both of them holding tight to each other. Long enough for her to get cold. Long enough for her stomach to rumble. Long enough for Enid to come looking, gently calling out their names and telling them that there's food ready, and that Daryl is still asleep. 

"I shouldn't be there when he wakes up," Beth mutters, wiping away her tears and running her hands through her messy hair. 

"I think you should," Maggie corrects her and Beth gives her a look of disbelief, her bright blue eyes now cold. 

"Why, so he can think I'm another dream or hallucination? So that I can break his heart some more? Maggie, I should run like hell. I should leave him alone, before I hurt him even worse!" she looks so angry, and Maggie knows that some of that anger has to be directed at herself. 

"No, you shouldn't." Maggie catches Beth's hands and squeezes them. "Beth, do you know what I would do to have Glenn walk through those gates like you did? Do you know what I would give? Anything. _Anything._ So Daryl is going to want you to tell him you're here and real. He deserves that." 

"I can't." Beth shakes her head, panicked. "I can't, I can't, I can't. He's the only one I never wanted to hurt, Maggie. He's the only one that I can't. I... I need him. I can't hurt him. I can't ruin this. Not him." 

"Hurt is part of the deal," Maggie reminds her with a wry little smile, heart aching as always for Glenn. But there's just a bit of him in this world, part of her now and always will be. "That's the cost of love, Bethy." 

"Ah." Beth clasps her hands in front of her face like she's praying. But then she nods. "Okay. Okay." 

Down the stairs and into the trailer they go. Maggie sits at the table with Sasha, Enid, and Jesus; Beth goes right to Daryl's bedside and kneels there, taking Daryl's hand and bringing it up to her forehead, absolutely silent. Sasha watches her and then looks at Maggie, raising a knowing eyebrow with Enid and Jesus both seem to be endlessly curious. Maggie can only shrug in response. 

It's not her story to tell. 

Daryl comes to several hours later, when Enid, Sasha, and Jesus are off working in the community. Maggie is resting at the insistence of Jesus and also because she wants to be near Beth, and Beth won't leave Daryl's side for anything, apparently. So in the trailer they sit, Beth still at Daryl's side and Maggie musing to herself quietly over how they're going to kill Negan and every other Savior. 

"Hey," Beth says softly, when Daryl's sheets rustle and he goes still, staring at her with eyes half glazed over with sleep and pain. He gives a little groan but nothing else and Beth's shoulders shake. "Hey, Daryl?" 

"Don't sing," he begs, voice raspy and shaking. "Please, don't sing to me. No more." 

"Okay." Beth stares at him, tears running unchecked, clutching his hand. "Okay, okay. I won't. I'm just gonna be here." 

"Always here." Daryl gives a little shake of his head, like he's trying to shake off a fly. "Always with me." 

"Daryl." Beth is crying in earnest now. "Daryl, I'm real. Daryl, I'm real, I came back, I'm here." 

"Nah." his hands jerk like he's going to reach for her but then stops himself. "I tell myself that cause it's what I want to hear. Want you back so damn bad, make you up in my head. Missing you so damn bad." 

"Daryl, listen." Beth reaches up and carefully catches his chin in her hand, mindful of all the cuts and bruises he's suffered. "What would it take for you to believe I'm real, huh? What would I have to do?" 

"Nothing." he leans into her touch, eyes drifting shut and there's a smile on his face, one that Maggie doesn't think she's ever seen before. "Cause you ain't back. Never gonna be. Last one standing."

"I love you." the words tumble out of Beth's mouth like she has no control of them, like they're ripped from the very fabric of her soul to be formed in the air between them. "I love you, I love you, I love you. I have since the prison Daryl, I have since the moonshine shack and the funeral home and every second since. I love you, I should have told you the second I felt it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I did. Please believe me when I say that I love you and I'm here." 

"Beth." the word is pulled from the depths of his chest, pained and awful. "I loved you too. Don't make you any less dead." 

"Alright. Enough of this." Beth squares her shoulders and then starts clambering into the bed. Maggie's eyes widen but Daryl just groans and moves over, making room for a ghost. Beth snuggles in, careful to mind his injuries. Daryl ends up curved around her, eyes shut. "I'm gonna be right here, Daryl. Every single time you wake up, I'll be right here until you believe that it's real." 

Her head is spinning, but Maggie lets them be for a little bit. She's always knew something happened between Beth and Daryl after the prison; Daryl has hinted at it here and there, and his reaction to Beth's death had been a grief that nearly matched or surpassed her own. So whatever this is, they evidently both need it and Maggie will be the last person on this earth to deny them the chance for closure. But eventually the others come back and the chatter wakes Daryl again, who looks down at the girl in his arms with a long, pained sigh. Sasha looks over and smiles slightly. 

"You better have something to eat," she remarks to Daryl with a sly smile and Beth opens her eyes, sitting up and blinking sleep out of her eyes. 

"I'm pretty hungry too," she remarks, hand resting absentmindedly on Daryl's chest. "Any of that jam left?" 

"Yeah." Sasha leans back to open a cupboard. "Think there's some raspberry in here." 

"Wait." Daryl, having been tracing patterns on Beth's hand, goes still. "Wait." 

"I told you I was real." Beth glances back with a wide smile and Daryl looks lost, looks like he's drowning and Maggie stands, bringing the bread and jam over to them. Beth begins to cut and butter slices, Daryl just staring at her in mute wonder. Then Beth turns and offers the bread to him. Wordlessly, Daryl opens his mouth with a tiny winch for her to feed him. 

"Beth got here just a little bit before you," Maggie tells him with a little smile and Sasha is smirking and Jesus is grinning and Enid just looks rather baffled, given that no one has bothered to explain just why the hell Beth Greene would be dozing beside Daryl Dixon. "With a group she rescued, from the hospital."

"We're going to fight with you all, against the Saviors," Beth states, still feeding Daryl. He's still accepting it, meek as a mouse, staring at her awe. 

"Is that what we're going to do?" Sasha asks Maggie, unbothered by the scene on the other side of the trailer, her mind right back to war. "Is that what Rick wants us to do?" 

"We have to," Maggie says flatly. "They might have the numbers, but we have each other. And that's everything. Together, we can win." 

* * *

"Hey." Maggie nudges Beth's knee when Daryl is asleep again. He hasn't said another word since eating and then Beth had gently helped him drink some water and now he was asleep again, all without saying a single thing to anyone else. But his fingers stay firmly entangled in Beth's. "You mean what you said?" 

"Yeah." Beth doesn't look away from Daryl, her expression tender and soft as she watches his chest rise and fall. "My people, they're fighters. They had to become them when we were out there. We've dealt with people like the Saviors before. We know what needs to be done. We know we can't live with people like that." 

"No." Maggie's glad to hear that, she is, but it wasn't what she was asking after. "What you said to Daryl. About... Loving him. That true?" 

"Oh." Beth smiles, gently stroking a thumb across Daryl's bruised and split knuckles. "Yeah. Of course it is. Always has been." 

"Huh." Maggie would usually rile up over Beth's relationships. Not this though. When she thinks about it, she finds she really likes it. The universe takes, the universe gives. They need more happiness. And Beth deserves this and so does Daryl. They both do. And it's a good thing too, for them. For everyone. "Good." 

"Yeah." Beth carefully brushes Daryl's hair away from his sleeping face. "And we'll be good." 

Maggie wakes in the middle of the night to hear soft whispers coming from the direction of the cot that Beth and Daryl have been occupying. She tenses for a second before realizing it's not anything strange or threatening; the two of them are carrying on a soft conversation, hushed and gentle voices that still carry in the enclosed space of the trailer. 

"-- and I'm sorry." 

"Daryl, if you say sorry one more time, I'm going to fight you." 

"Sorry." 

"Daryl!" 

"I left you for dead, Beth!" 

"Yeah, and I got myself shot trying to kill someone with a pair of safety scissors. Mistakes were made, Daryl. Mistakes are always going to be made. That's life. That's this life. We'll make mistakes. It'll get messy. But that's all it is. I ever finish that song for you, the one I was singing on the piano?" 

A short, sharp inhale of breath. "No." 

Maggie smiles to hear Beth sing again, in her high clear voice, a song that Maggie remembers Beth singing in the shower or doing chores out in the barn. 

_"Now I've got friendships to mend; I'm selfishly dispossessed. You don't wanna be my boyfriend and that's probably for the best. Because that, that gets messy and you will hurt me or I'll disappear. So we will drink beer all day and our guards will give way and we'll be good..."_

"Not gonna hurt you," Daryl mutters and Beth sighs. 

"And I'm not ever gonna disappear again," she promises and there's a long pause. 

"Said you loved me," Daryl reminds her, quietly awestruck and when she answers, Maggie can tell it's through a smile, because Beth just has a certain tone she takes when she smiles. 

"Yeah. Meant it too." 

"Really you?" he asks her and then Maggie distinctly hears the sound of lips being pressed against lips and she has to shove her knuckles in her mouth to stop either a noise of disgust or glee, she can't decide. Because damnit Daryl Dixon, that's still her baby sister.

"Yeah, really me," Beth murmurs and Maggie buries her head under her pillow to block out any other sounds, no matter how happy she is for them. 

* * *

In the morning, Maggie wakes first. She usually does, not sleeping well without Glenn beside her. She rises, checking on Enid, Sasha, and Jesus. Then she looks at Beth and Daryl, unsurprised to see that they are tangled closely together, Daryl's breath stirring the hair that lines Beth's forehead and her fingers grasping tightly at his shirt. Still though, they look content and restful so she leaves them be. 

Maggie smiles and walks outside, going to look out over the walls. For a minute, as the sun just starts to come up, there is silence and stillness, peace and nothingness. 

Then there's an all too familiar group of her family emerging on the road through the trees and Maggie's whole heart skips a beat. Because sure, the universe takes and takes and takes and takes until she feels utterly empty inside, until there is nothing left to her anymore, until everything is gone and she's a hollow body with absolutely nothing left. 

And then sometimes, the universe gives. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've adapted some of maggie and daryl's convo from 7x8 for this scene. (because you're really telling me they didn't talk until then when daryl came home from camp hell?? no. i refuse.)
> 
> reviews are the BEST and i am so glad you're all reading this story and next week we have... MY BB BOY AARON!


	8. Aaron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if... 
> 
> Aaron recruits someone from the woods in Alexandria who's pretty familiar?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so this takes place in a slightly alternate timeline where after the war with the saviors, daryl didn't take over but instead went back to alexandria
> 
> becuase full offense to rick grimes but why the FUCK would you send daryl to lead the sanctuary knowing that’s the place and those are the people who tortured him, beat him, kept him in a cell, and hated him
> 
> MY LIL BEAN DESERVES BETTER

“You better go back,” Aaron tells him, as he and Daryl stand side by side, looking down at the deer. They’ve been friends for awhile now and it’s a mark of their closeness that Daryl allows himself a real long sigh in front of Aaron. 

“Yeah,” he mutters with a grunt. 

They’re never going to turn down fresh food. Especially with all the mouthes to feed at Alexandria, now that Negan’s people have started to intermix with their own. Daryl’d spotted the deer while they were following other tracks and had shot the thing. Problem is, meat will spoil soon if he doesn’t get it back. And they need the food, but the tracks indicate that whoever they’ve been following isn’t too far. 

“I’ll go with you,” Aaron offers him and Daryl shakes his head, already yanking the arrow from the deer’s side and drawing his knife. 

“Nah, I got this,” he tells him, jerking his head in the direction of the footprints. “Just a woman, right? By herself?” 

“Yeah.” that’s been the guess at least, judging from the size and shape of the bootprints they’ve been tracking. 

“Probably better if she don’t see a dirty ass redneck with a crossbow coming at her,” he grumbles and Aaron scoffs at him. Daryl always sees the worst in himself, thinks that he’s some scary hillbilly, but Aaron knows the truth. He, and a hell of a lot of other people, look at Daryl and only see someone who’s capable of protecting himself and others. Aaron always feels better when he’s got Daryl watching his back. 

“Okay. I’ll give it another day, be back before sundown tomorrow. If I can’t get her, I’ll come back,” he offers and Daryl nods, already kneeling to gut the deer. “Tell everyone not to worry.” 

“Be safe,” Daryl tells him and Aaron lightly punches his shoulder. 

“Yeah, you too.” 

He’s not an expert like Daryl, but the tracks are pretty easy to follow. Deliberate even, maybe just a smidge too neat and easy to follow. Maybe whoever it is, wants to be found. Maybe it’s a trap. Even if it is one, all the evidences points to it being a lone woman. If Aaron gets a bad feeling, he’ll just back out. He can always turn around and leave, head towards home. No one will blame him. You can’t save everybody. 

It’s getting dark out, late into the day. Whoever this is, is close. Probably going to hunker down for the night. Aaron follows the tracks into a small clearing, where there’s an old foundation, half rotted away. It’s a smart structure to choose to settle in — walls to protect your back, good sight lines for incoming risks. It’s a place he or Daryl might pick. And then he smells smoke, from a campfire. And he smiles. 

He brings out the listening device. If there really only is one person, they probably won’t be very chatty. But he’s met enough survivors to know that being out here can make people a little off. And listening is always a safe bet, to see if he can pick up anything before approaching them in the daylight, where they'll feel safer and so will he. Aaron hunkers down, waiting to hear anything more than the rustling of leaves and dirt. Not expecting to, really, but idly hoping while he wonders if Daryl has gotten the deer dressed and back home yet. If he hurries back, maybe he’ll get some of the stew with it.

He jumps when he hears the voice, quiet and shaky, but there. 

_“And we’ll pine for summer…”_

It’s a song. At least he thinks it’s a song. Whoever it is singing, and he can tell it’s a woman, is struggling over the words a little bit, pausing here and there like they don’t come easily. Then, after a long pause, the humming words die off. He wonders if she’s done, but then she starts talking. 

“Hi god. It’s me again.” Praying? She’s praying? He doesn’t know a lot of people that pray anymore. He sits forward, intrigued. “Thank you for today, thank you for getting me through another day. Thank you for keeping me safe, for your ever-loving grace, for all that you are. Thank you for everyone that I know and love. Thank you for mama and Shawn, for Otis and Patricia. Thank you for daddy and Mags. Thank you for Rick and Carl and Carol and Glenn and Andrea and T-Dog and Lori and Michonne. Thank you for Noah and Sasha and Tyreese and Zach. And… Thank you god, especially, for Judith. And Daryl Dixon.”

Aaron is frozen to his spot. One or two names that he recognizes in a whole list that he doesn’t? He could chalk that up to coincidence or perhaps just the fact that he’s still not been sleeping well with a new baby and Eric not in bed beside him. But that name, that name is not common. There is only one Daryl Dixon that he’s ever met in his entire life. And if this woman knows him as well…

“Protect and keep those I love still living, and remember and honor those I love long gone. In your name I pray, amen.” 

He hears more rustling, seeming like whoever this is, they’re getting ready for bed. He doesn’t move. He can’t move. His mind is racing and empty at the same time and the only really coherent thought that he has is — _damn, I never should’ve let Daryl take that deer back_ — because who the hell is this? She’d evidently be thrilled to have Daryl show up and try to bring her back to Alexandria. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” he mutters, trying to get himself to focus. If this woman knows Daryl and the others she’d listed off — Rick, Judith, Carol, Michonne — then Aaron has to bring her back in one piece. He can’t risk her getting scared and running off, or he’ll never forgive himself. So he has to approach this very, very carefully. He has to get her there safely. He has to do this, for Daryl. 

He sleeps lightly, barely dozing. Part of him knows he’s in a forest that could have walkers and dangerous people in it, and he doesn’t want this person to slip away. But there’s another part of him that hopes he might be in his own bed back home, Eric dozing beside him, and Gracie in her crib. In a place where they are all safe and happy and alive and together, and when he dreams, it’s of Eric’s arms around him and the smell of Gracie’s downy hair in his nose. 

He wakes up with a bow in his face. 

“Don’t move,” comes a cold voice and he blinks, the sight in front of him coming into focus. It’s a woman; he’d bet his life it's the woman that they’ve been following. Short, with blonde hair that falls down her back in tangled curls and bangs that hang down in front of her eyes, sorta like the way they do on another face that he knows so well. Blue eyes peek out from behind the hair, eyes that are sharp and cunning and don’t have a hint of anything addling them. 

“Okay,” he says softly, spreading his hands. “Okay, okay, okay.” 

“Where are your weapons?” she demands and he points to the pack that he’s been resting his head on. 

“I have a few things in there, including a hatchet and a gun,” he tells her and then points to his belt. “I have a knife here too.” 

“Keep your hands out, don’t make any sudden movement, or you’ll get a bolt through the eyes,” she threatens him and he observes the crossbow. Smaller than Daryl’s, but probably no less deadly, especially at such closer range. 

“I won’t,” he tells her and she doesn’t budge an inch. 

“Why're you following me?” she demands and he blinks. She’s got the same drawl as Rick or Daryl. The same twang, just a bit softer and gentler than Daryl’s harsh rasp. But it sounds damn similar. 

“I was tracking you, with my partner,” he explains simply. He wants to bring up Daryl but he’s not sure if he should; what if it only serves to frighten her worse? “He shot a deer, went to bring it back to our community. I followed you, alone.” 

“You sure about that?” she looks anxious, but the aim of her bow doesn’t waver. 

“I am,” he promises her, thinking of Daryl. “We have a community, behind walls, where it’s safe.” 

“Then why the hell are you out here?” she demands and he chuckles. 

“Looking for people like you,” he tells her with a smile. “Looking for survivors. Looking for fighters. To bring them back, bring them into a family.” 

“A family?” she scoffs but he heard her prayers last night. She’s still someone of faith. 

“Can I ask you some questions?” he knows the three that Daryl asks. Told him once it was what they’d asked at the prison, when they found new people to bring. If she’s from there, someone from the past, she should know this. Maybe this will give him a chance to figure out who she is. 

“Sure,” she tells him suspiciously, bow still up. 

“How many walkers have you killed?” he asks and for the briefest of seconds, the bow dips when she takes in a slightly ragged gasp . 

“So many I’ve lost count,” she tells him, and he can hear the hopeful tone in her voice. He nods, holding his breath. 

“And… How many people have you killed?” he questions and hears her muffled little squeak, like he’s forcefully hit her in the solar plexus or somewhere else sensitive and tender. 

“I…” the bow drops down; confusion wrinkles her brow. “How do you know these? How do you… Know?” 

“The last question is why,” he tells her instead and suddenly she’s blinking away tears, the crossbow on the ground next to her as she stares at him. 

“Who… Who are you?” she demands, choking down sobs. 

“I’m Aaron,” he states calmly, “and I think some of your people have made it into my community. So I think the real question for now is… Who are you?” 

She sits down on the ground with a heavy thud, sending twigs and rocks skittering across the forest floor. Aaron sits up, a little alarmed, but she doesn’t appear wounded or hurt in any way. She just seems a bit shocked, which he probably would be too. Then she looks up with a somewhat hysterical laugh and pushes her hair away from her face, showing the little trio of scars that reside there. 

“I’m Beth Greene.” 

Aaron’s not sure who the hell he was expecting her to be, but it sure as hell wasn’t that girl. As in, Maggie’s sister Beth. As in, Judith’s surrogate mother Beth. As in, Daryl Dixon’s lost love Beth. 

Cause holy shit. 

He stares at her. For a moment, he thinks back to the night around the campfire, the first time he and Daryl had gone out after the death of Eric. He’d needed to get away, stop sleeping in a bed that still smelled like the man he’d loved and lost. Daryl had just sat there beside him, without saying too much, and then handed him a little flask with some whiskey in it, and they’d sat there side by side. 

“I ever tell you about a girl, Beth?” Daryl’d asked, voice even more raspier than usual. 

“No,” Aaron had replied hollowly. 

“Mm.” another drink down the hatch for Daryl. “Met her before the prison, on her daddy’s farm. Maggie’s little sister. Just a kid. Blonde. In a… A white shirt. Like a damn angel. She made it to the prison with us. Took care of Judith, when she was little. Always… Singing. Having faith. Thinking things were good, thinking we could make a life, have a home. Was… Damn annoying. And the only thing that kept me going, some days.” 

“She sounds nice,” Aaron had said, and meant it. Daryl’s snort was a sad thing. 

“Yeah. When the prison fell, her daddy was killed, we all had to scatter. Me’n her, off in the woods together. She… Saved my life. Kept me alive, kept me hopeful, kept telling me how to do shit and be someone, be better. Taught me how to stay who I am, not who I was. And she was… I dunno, she was…” 

“Everything,” Aaron had supplied, knowing the wistful tone in Daryl’s voice. Knowing it because he heard it in himself, thinking of Eric. And he had known then, if she was not here, then she could only be one other place. “You loved her, didn’t you?” 

_And now she'd dead._ The words hang in the air, unsaid. 

“Yeah,” Daryl had sighed heavily. “And then she died. I couldn’t save her, couldn’t stop it, and so she died. And… I miss her every fucking day. Somethings think all I am is just… Pain, walking around. But she taught me that you gotta keep going. Gotta let that go, or it kills you. Here.” and then he’d pointed at his heart. 

And now, here, back in the present, Aaron stares at her in amazement, mouth opening and closing a few times before he manages to get any sort of coherent thought out. “Like, Daryl’s Beth?” 

She reels back like he’s slapped her. The tears in her eyes spill onto her cheeks as she asks in a shaking voice, “you have Daryl?” 

“Yeah,” he tells her, with a watery chuckle of his own. “Yeah, he’s the partner I was telling you about. He’s the one taking the deer back, back to Alexandria. That’s where we live.” 

“Daryl,” she whispers, fingers touching her lips. She doesn’t seem to want to run, doesn’t seem to want to bolt, so he decides to come clean with her. 

“I heard you praying last night,” he says carefully. “I heard your list of people, and I heard some names of there. I knew that if you knew them too, I had to stay for you. I had to bring you home.” 

“To the place with walls?” she asks, blinking away tears. “Where Daryl is?” 

“Where everyone is,” he tells her. “Michonne, Rick, Judith, they’re all there. Carol is at Kingdom. And — oh my god — your sister Maggie, she’s at Hilltop.” 

Beth cries again. Cries even harder when she asks after Carl, Glenn, Noah, and Sasha and hears his answer. But she’s a survivor in this new world, and she knows that to love is to lose and so she nods and dries her tears and then Aaron hesitantly asks if she wants to come with him, wants to come home. 

“Yes,” she answers, in an even, measured tone. “Yes, I think I do.”

It doesn’t take them more than a few minutes to gather their things up. Beth maintains a tidy and neat camp, and he never really bothered unpacking. He watches the way she moves about and realizes that her tracks had been purposely visible the day before. Lulling him into a false sense of security, allowing her to gain the upper hand in the early hours of the morning. So she is trained by Daryl then, just like he thought. And when they leave, she takes just as much care to cover her tracks as Daryl would. 

“Can I ask you something?” he watches her as they walk back towards Alexandria. She carries the bow on her shoulder like Daryl does, and a bag on her back. She’s wearing dusty boots and faded, ripped jeans, and a light sweatshirt over what he’s sure are cooler layers beneath. 

“Sure,” she answers, eyes still on their surroundings. 

“How… Did you get here?” he asks carefully. It’s been a long time since he’d brought the group in from Georgia. If they’d lost her before that, then she’s been on her own for quite some time. 

“After I was shot, I recovered in the hospital,” she explains quietly, tonelessly, like the words hardly hold meaning for her anymore. “Daryl had… Killed the leader who was running it before, so things were sorta in a state of chaos, I guess. I stepped up. Tried to make things better. I couldn’t leave, not with my skull in pieces. It took me a bit before I was healed up enough to feel like I could leave. And then… I felt responsible for the people inside. They’d saved my life. And they needed someone to make sure that they didn’t go back to the old ways. 

“So I stayed. I stayed until things were better. Not good, but better. And when I finally decided to leave, my family was long gone. I figured they’d go to Virginia, to help Noah go back to his family. Because that’s the kind of people they are. And once I got to Noah’s place and saw what happened, I lost hope for a bit. But then I had this.” Beth tosses him something from her pocket; he catches it in confusion. 

A little metal spoon, the decorative sort that people might’ve collected, once upon a time. Etched in it is… “Washington, D.C?” he asks her in confusion. 

“Found it with Daryl,” Beth explains, “one of those days we were all alone. It seemed like… A sign. So I decided to head towards Washington. Until I fell in with some people, people who said they were escaping a war in these parts. Said it was Grimes versus Negan. And I knew it was my family. So I decided to start stomping around these woods. If Daryl was nearby, I knew he’d find me.” 

“Yeah.” Aaron is nodding along at the tale, a little bit shocked at it. “Yeah, he did. He was tracking you until that deer. Would’ve been with me, but we need the food back home. So he went back.” 

“Yeah.” Beth’s lips twitch. “That’s Daryl.” 

“Do you… Know?” he asks her carefully and Beth glances at him for a moment, brow furrowed. 

“Know what?” she asks him, going back to looking at the forest, alert for any walkers. 

“Daryl…” he doesn’t want to give away his friend’s secret. But he has to know what he’s bringing her back to. What he’s going to be bringing back to Daryl. 

“What about him?” for the first time, Beth smiles. A hesitant, goofy little smile, one that turns her cheeks pink and makes Aaron realize that it’s the same for her. And he shakes his head, smiling back at her. 

“Nothing,” he says, nodding. “Nothing at all.” 

They make good time back. On the way, she tells him about the way Daryl taught her to hunt and to track, and then she spent the days on her journey here practicing just that. Refining and honing, wielding the crossbow that was his signature weapon. And he tells her about Alexandria, about Hilltop, about Maggie and the little baby boy that is her nephew. And it’s damn near sundown when they make it back to the gates. Beth stops dead, staring at them and Aaron slows. 

“He’s there?” Beth’s voice trembles. “Daryl? He’s there?” 

“Should be,” he tells her and Beth takes a deep, shuddering breath. Then she squares her shoulders and nods. 

“Okay. Let’s go.” 

And they walk in together. 

A few people call out in greeting to him. Most of their gazes linger on Beth, but they’re not unaccustomed to him coming back with strays, so they don’t question it. He should take her right to Rick. That’d be the proper thing to do. But instead, he turns down his street. Towards his house, because he knows that’ll be where Daryl is. Beth walks with him, quiet and careful, looking at the world around her, the walls and houses, the people that walk to and fro, the sounds of kids playing off in the distance. 

She’s fine until he reaches the door of his house. She starts to tremble when he unlocks it and pushes the door open. The house is shadowed in darkness so he calls out, “Daryl?” 

“Garage!” a voice calls back and Beth has gone rigid. Aaron gently touches her elbow, wondering if she’s alright with this. Then she starts forward, padding on ghostlike feet, towards the light from the back of the house. Aaron follows behind her, both of them stopping in the doorway. Daryl is on the ground of the garage, working on his bike, the CD player blasting some old heavy metal song. Daryl’s head is completely under the bike and so he doesn’t look up when he asks, “find that person? They okay?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Aaron’s voice sounds distant, far away from his own ears. “Hey, Daryl…” 

“Yeah?” Daryl scoots out and looks up, hair messy and hands covered in grease. Even under his bearded stubble, Aaron can see just how white he goes. 

“I think I found Beth,” Aaron says simply and then Beth, absurdly, lifts her hands and wiggles her fingers, like that’s all it’s going to take. 

Daryl Dixon is a man of few words. Therefore it doesn’t surprise Aaron in the slightest that all Daryl says, rocking back on his haunches, is a long, extended _“fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.”_

“Daryl?” Aaron asks, a bit worriedly. Both of Beth and Daryl are just staring at each other with queer expressions, neither of them apparently capable of speech. He wonders if he should do something, say something, make some kind of move, but he decides it’ll be best just to sit and wait. Wait and see. 

Daryl speaks first, his voice sounding like he’s got a bad head cold. “How do I know you’re her?” 

“What’s something only I would know?” Beth asks him back, sounding just as choked up. Daryl watches her for a good long minute, long enough for Aaron to want to ask his own questions. He’s glad he’s kept his mouth shut when Daryl opens his again. 

“The name of the horse that threw me.” 

“Back on my farm?” Beth asks, eyebrows raised and Daryl nods. “Nellie. Nervous Nellie. She was my horse, and I could’a told you she’d throw you the first chance she got, if you bothered to ask. But you wanted to get an arrow through your side.” 

Aaron has no idea what they’re talking about. Daryl’s never told him the story before, but he has seen him without a shirt on and knows the guy has more scars than skin. To him, an arrow through the side was probably just another Tuesday. But here, with Beth? It seems it’s a matter of utmost importance. At least, judging from the intensity of the look passing between the two of them. 

The wrench Daryl had been holding clatters to the floor, echoing around the garage. His chin is quivering, the look in his eyes one of… Well, worship and reverence is what Aaron might term it. But he knows it for what it is. Love. The same look that Eric used to give him, whenever he walked through the door, safe and sound after another run. The look he’d do anything to get one more time. 

“Alright,” Daryl whispers, nodding his head, shaking his bangs into his face. “Okay. C’mon then.” 

“What?” Aaron looks at him as Daryl starts throwing tools around and then goes to open the garage door. 

“Where are we going?” Beth asks in confusion and Daryl kicks the bike upright, looking at her like it’s obvious. 

“Maggie. She’s at Hilltop.” 

“Daryl, wait.” Beth approaches him, her hands up. “I’m not — we can’t go to to Hilltop.” 

“Gotta get you to your sister,” Daryl mutters, like a man possessed, grabbing things to throw in the saddlebags on his bike. “Gotta get you to Maggie.” 

“He was doing so well,” Aaron mutters to Beth, but he should’ve seen this coming. Daryl is usually entirely mission oriented, focused on the end goal and blocking out any and all emotion that comes in conflict with that goal. Aaron’s seen him do it. Always respected that ability of his, though he doesn’t dare ask how he acquired it. 

“C’mon,” Daryl orders, stronger now, and Beth plants her feet. 

“Daryl, no, I ain’t going.” 

“Gotta get you to Maggie,” he mutters, grabbing his crossbow and fitting it on the pegs on the bike. “Gotta get you to Maggie.” 

"Hey!” Beth marches across the garage and catches Daryl’s chin in her grip. He looks at her, struck dumb, and Aaron could almost laugh at this pint-sized girl stopping a man like Daryl Dixon right in his tracks. “Daryl, I ain’t going anywhere. For one, it’s gonna be the middle of the night soon. And two, I want a damn shower. I want to see Rick, I want to see Michonne, I want to see _Judith._ I want to talk, to you, to everyone. We can go see Maggie tomorrow. Or the day after. But first — I wanted to talk to you.” 

Daryl doesn’t appear to have words. And Aaron can’t really blame him. Beth seems like a spitfire. At the very least he doesn’t know that many people who go toe to toe with Daryl Dixon and don’t back down. Beth seems to be well at ease with it, standing literally chest to chest with the man, his chin still in the palm of her hand. And he looks down at her and she up at him and Aaron is happy for his friend. He is. 

He just wishes it was Eric. 

“Nah,” Daryl whispers, searching Beth’s face. “I ain’t… Not me, first… You gotta… I should… Need…” 

“I wanted Aaron to bring me here,” Beth tells him, her hand slipping up from his chin to his cheek. “I wanted to see you first. I wanted to talk to you first.” 

“Why?” Daryl asks brokenly and Beth’s shoulders shudder. 

“I wanted to say sorry,” she says softly. “I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through. I’m sorry for the awful things I said to you at the moonshine shack. I’m sorry for not helping you get out of the funeral home. I’m sorry that I sacrificed myself to get Noah out, and I’m sorry I did it again when I thought Dawn was gonna take him back. I thought I could protect you all, I thought I could do it. And… I’m sorry what you must’a went through, watching me like that. I’m sorry for everything, Daryl. I’m so, so sorry. And it’s the most important thing to me that you know that.” 

Aaron feels tears prick his eyes. Daryl hadn’t told him any of this, but he can see what it is. How much it means to Daryl. Sees how slowly, slowly, slowly, the man’s walls start to crumple and then he leans forward and trusts Beth to catch him, and she does. It’s a marvel to Aaron, that she can hold the guy up with little to no apparent struggle. Must be that she’s stronger than she looks, if she can hold a Dixon without faltering. 

“Ain’t never been mad at you,” Daryl finally tells her, more to her collarbone than her face. “Just… Sad. Missing you. Wishing it was different, being mad at myself. Thinking I could’a done more.” 

“No.” Beth shakes her head, gently stroking Daryl’s hair. “No, there was nothing you could’ve done. It was all on me Daryl. I made my choices. Bad ones, good ones, they’re all mine. I just never wanted to hurt you. Never meant that you’d be the last one standing, with no one else around you. Just never thought I’d see myself there and it hurt, cause I was falling in love with you, and I knew you’d never love me back.” 

Aaron thinks of the night with Daryl and the fire and the whiskey, the way his eyes had clouded over, the way he’d talked about her. How Aaron had seen right through him. It was love, plain and simple. It is love, here and now, when Beth cries her tears into Daryl’s greasy hair and he cries on her dirty jacket and Aaron watches the pair of them, together in a garage at the end of the world. 

“Not mad. Not gonna be mad,” he tells her. “Just gonna be glad you’re back. Gonna be glad for that, cause it’s a miracle and I don’t get those.” 

He’s the most deserving person of a miracle that Aaron’s ever met. But not that he’s going to tell him that either. 

“I thought you’d be so mad at me,” Beth whispers to him. “Thought we’d have a big fight. Thought you’d run away, thought you’d never want to speak to me again.Thought it would take me years to fix this, before you’d forgive me for what I did to you, to everyone. What I said.” 

“Ain’t never gonna be mad at you,” Daryl admits and Beth smiles. “I’m mad enough anyways, most of the time. Not gonna be mad about a damn miracle too. Just gonna take it, for what it is. You told me we gotta stay what we are, not what we were.” 

“Just like that?” Beth asks and he shrugs. 

“Guess so. Am gonna take you to Maggie though. She’s been real cut up about you.” 

“Tomorrow?” Beth requests and Daryl nods. 

“Yeah, tomorrow.” 

Aaron decides to leave them be. They’ll be okay. He’s got a feeling they’ll be more than okay. He turns to leave them, his heart breaking a little bit for the chance that he’ll never get. And he’s just about through the door when Beth calls, “Aaron?” 

He turns and looks over at them. Beth, tucked into Daryl’s side, her arm wrapped around Daryl’s and her head leaning against his shoulder. Daryl is looking down at her, awestruck. Aaron’s never seen him so happy. And judging from the quirked lips of Beth, she probably would say the same. So he gives her a little nod. He knows the words that don’t need to be said. 

_Thank you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just have a lot of feelings about daryl dixon and beth greene's height different okay
> 
> i wanted to explore beth coming back and daryl just being like nope no gotta go get you to maggie gotta be on a mission 
> 
> and beth greene saying a little prayer for her family? 
> 
> urgh this is one of my favorites so i hope you enjoyed it and the next chapter is even better and it's with CYNDIE AND ITS GONNA BE WILD


	9. Cyndie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if...
> 
> Someone was waiting for her family in DC?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *holds hands with all of you*
> 
> okay friends this was the moment i truly thought beth was coming back and then she didn't and to remedy that, here you go with the longest chapter ever for 9x01, one of the best episodes
> 
> also i am so scared for the 10C episodes, but hey maybe I'll get another chapter out of it???

Cyndie takes a deep breath, tilting her face towards the sunshine that beats down on them. She can hear everyone around her, can smell the decay of the few walkers that lie still on the sidewalk, can taste the sweat from her upper lip in her mouth. And she knows when she opens her eyes, she’ll see the crumbling city around them. It grounds her, brings her back to the present, though her conversation with Daryl still echoes in her brain.

_"I was just thinking about my brother. We were fighting during a canoe ride at the county fair. It's funny, you know, how certain things just bring up random memories like that. Does it happen to you?”_

She hasn’t thought about Dre in months. It makes her feel awful, really, because she thinks of her mother and her grandmother every single day. She thinks of them while leading Oceanside, trying to make the right call for her community and for their people. She feels their legacy in everything she does. But Dre… She only got a few years with him. She’s forgetting him. She’s forgetting a lot of people. But so is everyone else. 

_"Most of the memories I got of my brother, we were fighting. But I had friends that fought with me. They wanted to be here. They didn't make it. So, yeah, it happens to me.”_

Daryl is a little ways ahead of her, still securing the cargo in the wagons while Marco and Maggie get the horses hooked up. When Cyndie opens her eyes and blinks away the residual tears, she finds Daryl is watching her. He gives her a little nod that she’s slow to return. Today has been a good day. A good, well planned run. They’ll get back safe and sound, and then the real work will begin. Things will get better. 

They’ll do it for the people who didn’t get to make it. 

“Why is DC so clear?” Enid asks Anne, as both of them load the wagon with the bags. Cyndie follows suit. “It’s not overrun like the other big cities nearby. Remember Bethesda?” 

“Don’t talk about Bethesda,” Siddiq orders jokingly and Enid grins back.

“Deanna told us that this area was evacuated,” Maggie chimes in, brushing back her hair from her eyes, sweating, cinching the last straps in the harness. 

“All the hotshot government people probably ran away,” Marco remarks with an eye roll. 

“That or they’re all still in a bunker somewhere, waiting for the right time to come out,” Cyndie jokes and Enid snaps her fingers, pointing to her. 

“I sorta thought if anything was going to be left, it’d be here,” Enid remarks thoughtfully. 

“Hey.” Rick’s voice is sharp, cutting off any of their ruminations. He's standing behind one wagon, looking out at the city with furrowed eyebrows and a frown. “Tara, Alden, Jesus, Aaron. They should’ve been back by now. They were just patrolling.” 

“Think they got into trouble?” Carol asks him, already mounted up but looking a bit worried, hand resting on her knife. 

“Can’t think that’s not a possibility,” Rick admits, exchanging looks with Michonne and Ezekiel. 

“Wasn’t like we were being quiet in there,” Gabriel remarks calmly. “We might’ve been drawing walkers. Maybe they were just taking care of them.” 

“Best not assume they’re safe and sound,” Michonne declares, unsheathing her sword. 

“Alright. Gabriel, Anne, Marco, Ken, Siddiq, Enid, you stay back, protecting the wagons and horses,” Rick orders quickly. “Rest of you, with me. We’ll do a perimeter check, see if Daryl can pick up a trail. We’re not back in thirty minutes, you take this stuff back, do you understand me? You do not wait for us.” 

“Yes,” everyone choruses and Rick nods.

“Mount up then.” 

Cyndie swings up into the saddle, falling to Maggie’s right side where Enid would usually go. The rest of their group gets into formation — Carol, Rick, Michonne, Ezekiel, and even Daryl on a horse, choosing to leave behind his loud bike, though his crossbow is laying across his lap. Rick nods them into an alley and so they start, keeping their eyes peeled for anything that looks remotely out of place. 

Everything looks out of place to Cyndie. Their old nation’s capitol, in disrepair. Debris and burnt out cars and collapsed buildings, not to mention all of the bodies everywhere. Walkers aren’t swarming them, but they’re certainly never far, trapped in buildings or stumbling up the streets. Cyndie watches in case any get close, but they’re moving at a fast enough clip that the decaying corpses can’t keep up. 

Daryl’s whistle splits the air and Rick rides to follow him, everyone automatically tightening formation. Whatever Daryl sees, it leads them down a narrow alley. Cyndie feels the trepidation, wondering what is waiting for them down there. Could be nothing. Could be something, especially if four of their strongest fighters are missing. Well, not missing, she corrects herself. They just might’ve stumbled upon something or someone. Not everything is a bad thing. 

She wishes she could believe that in this world. 

“Weapons out,” Carol mutters, as Rick and Daryl turn down the alley. Cyndie readies her knife and her spear, heart thudding a bit painfully against her ribs. It reminds her she’s alive, sure, but sometimes she wishes it wouldn’t be so aggressive with it. 

“Flank me,” Maggie says softly and Cyndie nods as Michonne holds her sword out, at the ready. 

Down the alley they go. It’s only wide enough for them to ride two abreast; Daryl and Rick lead, then Michonne and Carol, then Maggie and Cyndie, and Ezekiel covering the rear, glancing back over his shoulder every few seconds. Cyndie can feel her throat tightening like it always does when danger is near and she tries to breathe through it, forcing out the memories of the past that whisper empty threats against her spine. 

“Hold,” Rick says lowly when they reach a clearing. It’s a small park, with a small patch of grass and a few trees. The second Cyndie moves to the side, she sees why Rick has frozen. 

Four horses are tied to the trees, all of them eating grass and looking relatively unharmed. The same cannot be said for the four riders who had previously been in their saddles. 

Alden, Tara, Aaron, and Jesus are all nowhere to be found. 

“Trap,” Carol hisses and Rick shakes his head, looking around like a cornered animal. 

“We don’t know that,” he says quietly, hand up to warm them not to pick up their weapons. “Horses are fine.” 

“And you think their humans are too?” Maggie demands, frowning. 

“Saddlebags are intact,” Daryl points out, his eyes on the grounds, like he's trying to search out any sign of where four of their most capable fighters have disappeared off to. “All their shit’s there.” 

“So whoever this is doesn’t need supplies and likes horses, doesn’t mean it’s not a trap,” Carol whispers furiously, looking between Rick and Daryl. Ezekiel moves to cover Carol's back, alert and wary. 

“Tracks?” Michonne asks Daryl urgently, who frowns and gnaws on the side of his thumb. 

“Horses obliterated anything that might’ve been here,” he admits, a bit anxiously. “Could be nothing. Could be everything. Dunno though.” 

“Well what do we do now?” Cyndie asks, looking at Rick. She doesn’t want to lose the supplies; they’re going to be essential to them surviving in this new world. But she doesn’t want to leave behind her friends either. They can’t just sit here though. 

“We take the horses back,” Rick states, looking pained. “We send the rest of the group on with the supplies. Daryl and I stay and try to pick up a trail.” 

“Hold on,” Daryl mutters, looking at the base of one of the largest trees. “I think that —“ 

“Rick Grimes,” comes a voice from high above them and everyone freezes, Rick slowly drawing his gun. But the voice isn’t done, continuing without hesitation. “Carol Peletier. Maggie Greene. Michonne Hawthorne.” 

“What the hell,” Maggie breathes, looking around in panic. Everyone named is holding their weapons out, circling around each other protectively as they look for the source of the voice, calling them out. 

“And Daryl Dixon.” 

Daryl’s crossbow comes up so lightning quick that Cyndie barely has time to register it before there’s a blur of red and something drops from the tree. No, not something. _Someone._ A small human, probably female, judging by her size and build. She’s wearing a wide brimmed hat pulled low over her forehead, a brown leather vest over a white peasant shirt, and tight red jeans tucked into cowboy boots. She wears a bow across her back, knives strapped to each thigh and on her belt, and a black bandana covers the lower half of her face. 

When she pulls it off, she’s grinning from ear to ear and Cyndie hears Maggie’s sharp inhale of breath, her muttered "no." 

“What took you so long?” the new woman demands of Daryl, hands on her hips, and then chaos breaks out. 

Maggie is first off her horse, running for the woman at a speed Cyndie has never, ever seen her move at. Michonne and Carol both sit frozen on their horses and Rick had managed to make it down but now he's on his knees halfway across the clearing. Cyndie and Ezekiel are both looking at each other in confusion, unsure if they should lower their guards or not. And Daryl, bless him, still hasn’t moved the crossbow an inch from it's aim at the woman's chest. 

Maggie and the woman collide and the hat gets blown off, revealing long, blonde hair in an intricate braid down her back. Cyndie looks at Carol for answers because Carol has always been the most unflappable of their group but even the older woman looks flabbergasted, her mouth opening and closing a few times like she cannot believe what she’s seeing. Cyndie wishes she could understand what she was seeing; why is Maggie breaking down in tears, rocking back and forth with the woman? 

And where are their people? 

“Is it really you?” Maggie is sobbing, holding the woman’s face and looking at her like she holds the secrets to the universe. “Is it really you, Bethy?” 

“It’s me,” the woman remarks with a smile, patting Maggie’s cheek tenderly. 

“Beth,” Rick finally rasps and Cyndie commits the name to memory. “What... Are you doing here?” 

“Do we know her?” Ezekiel mutters to Carol, trotting his horse alongside her’s while his eyebrows furrow. 

“We do.” Carol gestures to herself, Rick, Daryl, Michonne, and Maggie, jaw still a bit slack from the shock. “She was… From before. She’s… She’s Maggie’s sister.” 

“Your friends are fine,” Beth says, instead of answering Rick's question. “They’re right inside here.” she points to a building across the clearing.

“How are you alive?” Carol asks her weakly and it’s only then does Cyndie see that the woman has several scars across her face, including one right on her hairline that looks oddly like a bullet wound. 

“Does it matter?” Maggie is still crying, stroking Beth’s hair. “She just… Is.” 

Rick finally gets across the clearing on shaky legs and pulls Beth into a hug that she returns with gusto, grinning. Maggie seems reluctant to let her go; she keeps a hand curled around Beth’s wrist at all times even as Beth hugs Rick and then goes to hug the finally unthawed Michonne. Only Carol and Daryl stay where they are, keeping their distance even as Beth embraces Michonne tightly. 

“Should we go free the others?” Ezekiel asks Carol, who starts like she’s completely forgotten he’s there. She blinks at him for a moment then slowly nods and dismounts. Ezekiel follows and after a beat, Cyndie does too. She doesn’t know this girl, but she wants to get the rest of their group back as soon as possible. 

“Beth,” Carol whispers and the woman runs to throw her arms around her and hold her tightly. “Are you… Are you still you?” 

Cyndie doesn’t know what that means. But Beth apparently does, pulling back and smiling at her with a somewhat watery smile, nodding. Carol exhales a trembling breath and then pulls Beth back in for another hug, her hand stroking the back of Beth's head and when Cyndie catches Ezekiel’s eye, sees that he has a small smile there, watching this. Cyndie allows herself to relax, by the smallest possible margin. She doesn't seem dangerous and she doesn't seem to mean them harm.

“Our people?” Ezekiel says softly, once Beth and Carol have let go of each other and step back, each of them wiping away tears that threaten to fall. 

“I tricked them,” Beth admits, holding hands with Maggie but addressing Rick. “I saw you all ride in, but I wanted to confirm it was my family. They’re fine, I just... Tied them up until I could be sure that I could talk to all of you.” 

Cyndie wants to remark that she’ll believe it when she sees it, but she decides it’ll probably be better to hold her tongue. Everyone else seems to trust Beth. Well, everyone except Daryl. He’s still watching her from behind narrowed eyes and a scowl, but that also seems to be the expression that never leaves his face, so Cyndie isn’t sure what to think. He’s at least lowered the crossbow, but it stays in his hands, ready to go. 

Beth leads them into the building; it must’ve been some sort of government building before and now it’s become a maze of traps and dead ends. Cyndie can tell the spots where walkers must get tangled up and she reluctantly has to admit that this Beth knows what she’s doing when it comes to keeping herself safe. Finally, she leads them to a relatively clean area, where it’s clear someone has been living. 

Jesus, Alden, Tara, and Aaron are all sitting there, hands and feet bound, though they’re not gagged. The second Rick enters the room they all start talking at once, their voices overlapping and echoing in the small space, making it impossible to understand them. 

“— and said there was a baby —“ 

“Never thought she’d —“ 

“— and she came out of —“

“Maggie’s sister!” 

“It’s fine, it’s okay, it’s fine,” Rick tells them, holding his hands up to stop the onslaught of information. “We know her. It’s okay.” 

“Sorry.” Beth pops out from behind Maggie with a somewhat rueful smile before going to untie Tara's bindings while Alden, Aaron, and Jesus all look at her in shock. “I really am sorry for tricking you.” 

“I told Aaron not to follow her.” Tara shakes her head, grimacing and rolling her wrists when Beth frees her. “But she said she was with Maggie, so we figured she’d come back eventually with you guys.” 

“How’d things go at the museum?” Jesus asks Maggie, apparently the only one still focused at the task on hand, as Maggie picks at his bindings. 

“Good.” Rick undoes Alden’s ankles. “We have to get back to the others before they leave though.” 

“Are we taking her with us?” Alden asks, looking at Beth apprehensively. She smiles sweetly at him, going to grab a backpack from a hook by the door. 

“She’s Maggie’s little sister,” Michonne says with a grin. “Yeah, we’re taking her back with us.” 

“Oh.” Alden rubs his wrists, looking suitably impressed. “Huh.” 

There really isn’t a whole lot more time for reunions. They all hasten back to the courtyard, getting back to the horses. Beth mounts up behind Maggie, holding onto her sister’s waist. Maggie is still crying but doesn't even seem to be aware of it, the tears gently sliding down her cheeks as Beth rests her head between Maggie’s shoulders for a moment. Once everyone is mounted back up, they head back towards their group. 

Cyndie sees the palpable relief when they make it back, everyone counting heads to only to shift into confusion when they realize that they not only do they have all their people, but that they’ve gained one as well. The first person when makes any sort of connection is Anne; her brows furrow and her lips form the question before Maggie announces to the group, rather shocked, 

“We found my sister. This is Beth Greene.” 

Introductions are rapid-fire; they only have so much light left in the day to get back and their unexpected detour with Beth has cost them. So for the most part, everyone just throws their names out and then hurries to get the wagons ready and to split the horses back up. Beth ends up in the wagon with Maggie, Enid, and Cyndie. Daryl takes up his bike again and then they set out. 

Cyndie is grateful to be in the wagon. It means that she gets to hear Beth’s whole story. And it’s a long one, taking the entire time journey back from the museum. She learns that Beth grew up with Maggie on their farm and eventually wound up in a prison with the rest of the group, including Rick and Carol and Michonne. Those three occasionally drift back, just to stare at Beth in astonishment, like they can’t believe that she’s real. 

When the prison fell, she got out with Daryl. This isn’t new news to Maggie apparently; she holds tight to Beth’s hand and nods. Then Beth gives an abbreviated tale of something to do with a hospital. Cyndie gets the sense that no one wants to talk about it, judging from the way that Carol’s mouth tightens and Maggie’s tears fall harder. When she explains how she survived the gunshot to her head, both Cyndie and Enid exchange shocked looks. But Beth has the scars to prove it. Behind the wagon, she hears Alden mutter something to Marco along the lines of _‘holy shit’_ in a slightly worshipful tone. 

Beth talks about recovering in the hospital and then leaving after months of physical therapy to get her strength back. Traveling north, falling in with groups here and there but always heading north, trying to get to DC. Eventually reaching the city, taking up refugee in one of the buildings and waiting, just waiting. For them to come. And by them, she means of course, her family. Her faith in them astounds Cyndie. 

“How’d you know someone would come?” Maggie demands and Beth reaches into the pack by her feet, pulling out a slim, silver object. It’s a spoon engraved with the Capitol building and the lettering ‘Washington DC’. 

“It’s a sign,” Beth says simply and Maggie wordlessly pulls her into another hug. 

It’s amusing to Cyndie to realize that all the boys are watching Beth with something like fascination. Alden, Ken, Marco, and even Siddiq are all sneaking glances at her when she doesn’t appear to be looking. The only people who don’t seem fascinated by her would be Tara, who’s avoiding her entirely, an indifferent Aaron, and Daryl, who has not circled back a single time even though he usually has three or four times by now. 

“I don’t think there are words to say how glad we are for you to be alive,” Jesus tells her, riding alongside the wagon and grinning. “Maggie’s told me so many stories of you over the years. You seem like a real spitfire.” 

“I try,” Beth remarks with a faint blush and Jesus shakes his head, smiling. 

“Even after everything.” Michonne is looking at her in wonder. “You’re still… So happy.” 

“Have to be.” for a moment, Beth’s smile falters, just a tiny bit. “If I wasn’t… I’d be lost.” 

“You’re found now,” Maggie tells her softly and Beth briefly leans into her sister’s shoulder before straightening up with a smile. 

“Now, how about you tell me everyone’s names again? I don’t want to forget!” 

They all tell her their stories. It’s a motley bunch really, but between them they manage to explain Alexandria, Hilltop, Oceanside, Kingdom, and the Sanctuary. They make it through the list of the dead; Beth sheds her first tear when Maggie gently tells her that though Glenn is dead, there’s a new baby Hershel for them to come back to. Rick tells her about Judith, grinning, and Michonne tells her about Carl, holding back tears. 

It’s the way of the world now. The list of the dead. The list of the living. 

“And you’ll come back with me to Hilltop,” Maggie says, like that’s obvious, after Alden, Ken, and Marco make a mess of trying to introduce themselves to Beth all at once.

“I want to go see Judith,” Beth insists, mostly ignoring the bickering boys behind her. “I know she won’t remember me, but…” 

“No, she does.” Maggie smiles, squeezing Beth's hand. “Carl talked about you a lot, Carol and Rick too. And… Daryl did too. In the beginning. When he could.” 

“Oh.” for the first time, Beth looks a bit nervous. Her eyes flicker to the front of their group, where Cyndie can still hear the faint rumble of Daryl’s engine. “He…” 

“That’s between you two,” Maggie says simply and Beth just nods.

When Rosita and Daryl come back to tell them that the bridge is out and the caravan will need to turn towards Alexandria, Maggie's shoulders tense, but Beth just lays a hand on her arm. Maggie turns to her, eyebrows raised, mouth a thin, hard line while everyone watches to see what will happen. 

"I think we should go to Alexandria," Beth states softly and Maggie shakes her head. 

"I need to get back to Hilltop," she tries to argue. "We need to get back. To Hershel." 

"It's been a long day. I want to see Judith, and meet everyone else. We'll start for Hilltop first thing in the morning," Beth promises with a strangely steely look in her eyes and Maggie wavers. It's like they're having an unspoken conversation and with a pang, Cyndie recalls all the times that she'd throw Dre a look and he'd known exactly what she was thinking without her ever having to say a word. Whatever it is, Beth seems to win. 

"We'll fix the bridge," Rick promises, watching Maggie with clear apprehension. "We'll make it right, it'll be okay." 

Maggie says nothing but nods, her hand tightens on Beth's arm, and then she turns back to get inside the wagon. Beth follows, glancing over her shoulder at Daryl. He just gets back on his bike, spraying dirt as he heads back down the road without a single look back towards any of them. Cyndie thinks she sees Beth's mouth turn downward but then she's saying something under her breath to Maggie that Cyndie can't quite hear. When Maggie sits down, rigid, in the wagon seat, Cyndie catches the grateful nod that Rick throws Beth. Beth returns it with a little nod of her own, rubbing Maggie's hand. 

Their entrance to Alexandria is less grand homecoming and more bewildered acceptance; everyone had been well aware that the run was for supplies that were bound for Hilltop and the Sanctuary, not Alexandria. Rick swings down off his horse to explain their delay and the bridge outage to the gathering crowd, and everyone else gets down, groaning and stretching from the day of hard travel and scavenging. 

"Judith is over here," Michonne tells Beth, who lights up in a smile. Maggie remains where she is, like she's rooted to the wagon, until Daryl comes over and gently touches her hand, still not looking at Beth. 

"C'mon," he mutters to Maggie. "We stay over here." he gestures to the new houses that have been built, the small ones for the guests or traveling teams that ride from place to place with supplies and news. Maggie nods numbly, climbing down and following Daryl while Beth departs with Michonne. 

Cyndie helps secure the wagons and the rest of the supplies, listening with amusement as Marco, Ken, and Alden all argue over who will get to sit beside Beth tonight and who she'd smiled at on the ride back to Alexandria. Cyndie takes no offense to this; the boys are like her family after the war together. And it's not very often that they get new, fresh blood in this world. Let them fight over Beth. At least it'll provide some entertainment to the rest of them in the meantime. 

When she walks back over to the little line of houses, it's to see Beth and Michonne with Maggie and Judith on the porch in the dying light. Beth is squatting so she's eye level with the little girl and Maggie is sitting in a rocking chair, smiling slightly. Cyndie wanders over, watching with a smile as Beth shakes Judith's little hand with mock seriousness and Judith hides her face in Michonne's neck. 

"She's just being shy," Michonne states, patting Judith's back. "She usually warms up pretty quick." 

"That's okay," Beth reassures her with a sad smile, her eyes on the distant figure of Daryl talking to Rick. "I'm not in any rush to make anyone accept me." 

* * *

Maggie doesn't come to dinner. She'd had a short but tense conversation with Michonne while Cyndie and Beth played with Judith and then retreated inside the house, the door slamming shut behind her. Michonne sighs and rubs her forehead, then gives Beth a tired smile. 

"I'm just happy you got her here in the first place," she mentions with a little sigh, eyes flickering towards the townhouses where Cyndie knows Negan is jailed. The very idea makes the hair on the back of her neck rise. "She hasn't been back since it happened. The memories, I think..." 

"She'll be okay." Beth picks Judith up and places her on her hip. The little girl gives a little cry of happiness, having come to accept Beth as one of her own in a relatively short time. "Maggie's strong but stubborn." 

"You being back might help," Michonne tells her, walking with Beth and Cyndie towards the meeting hall where food will be served. "Remind her that the whole world isn't doom and gloom. That good things still happen." 

"I'll try." Beth smiles at Michonne but doesn't say much more. 

At dinner, she chooses to sit near Enid and Cyndie, apparently unaware that all the boys are jostling for her attention. She focuses most of it on Judith, keeping her on her lap and feeding her. Occasionally, she'll run her hand over the little girl's head, like she can hardly believe that she's real. Cyndie sees the natural way she is with the little girl and wonders if Beth had a baby of her own, before all of this. 

"So Beth, where do you think you'll settle after this?" Marco asks, trying to be smooth, even as he nearly plants his elbow in his beans. "Hilltop, with Maggie?" 

"That's where we are." Ken jerks his thumb at himself and Alden, bits of juice splattering off his fork and getting on the table. "My dad's the blacksmith there, we work for him. Making weapons." 

"Maggie's at Hilltop right?" Beth asks, handing Judith another berry and Alden nods. "But Carol and the King Ezekiel, they're in charge of the Kingdom? And Michonne and Rick live here, in Alexandria?" 

"Yeah, Cyndie's really the only one from Oceanside," Enid explains to her, giving an amused look as Alden tries to clean himself up after being hit with Ken's mess and Beth smiles at her. 

"I always did want to live by the ocean," she mentions thoughtfully and the boys look crestfallen. Then, in a voice that's trying just a bit too hard to be casual, Beth asks, "where... Where does Daryl live?" 

"Oh." Marco winches. "That'd be the Sanctuary. That's where... That's where the other Saviors are." 

"Mhmm." Beth doesn't look impressed with that, her eyes flickering to where Rick and Michonne sit with the other council members, talking lowly. Daryl is nowhere to be found, which surprises Cyndie. Usually he's never far. She glances around, seeing if he's perhaps seated with Carol and Ezekiel, but he's not there either. He's not here at all and that sets off an internal alarm for Cyndie. 

"Who are you looking for?" Enid asks her quietly and Cyndie hesitates.

"Uh, Daryl," she admits quietly and Beth doesn't look up from helping Judith with her bread, but she does speak. 

"I bet he's outside. You should take him a plate of food." 

"Uh, okay." a little bit baffled by the suggestion, Cyndie does as told. She feels a little bit bad for leaving Beth to the wolves that are Ken, Marco, and Alden, but she is genuinely worried about Daryl. 

She doesn’t have to go far to find him. He’s sitting with Maggie and Tara at the guesthouse, the three of them in silence on the porch. Cyndie suddenly feels awkward with her single plate, wondering if she should’ve thought to grab more. But when she approaches, they all look up at her and the girls manage a smile, even when Cyndie hands the plate off to Daryl. He takes it with a grunt and Cyndie sits down beside him. 

“I'll go get us some food," Tara tells Maggie, squeezing her shoulder. Then she departs and Maggie goes inside, shutting the door behind her with a much gentler slam than before. 

"She okay?" Cyndie asks, watching her. She can imagine what Maggie is going through, being so close to Negan. There's a reason why Cyndie will never go to the Sanctuary. She'll never forgive those who took Dre from her. 

"Nah." Daryl picks through the food with disinterest. "Loves her sister though. So she's trying." 

"Yeah," Cyndie says thoughtfully, sitting in silence with him for a little bit. Then she can no longer resist the question that's been lingering in the back of her mind for awhile now. So she asks him, quietly, "Beth; was she one of the ones you were talking about? The friends that fought to be here?" 

Daryl doesn't answer her for a few long beats. He's quiet for long, in fact, that Cyndie thinks that he won't ever answer her before he huffs out a long sigh and sets aside the plate, licking the tips of his fingers before admitting, "yeah." 

"Can I ask you something?" Cyndie knows Daryl pretty well, given that they fought a war together and have spent the time since trying to make sure that their world doesn't slip back to that, but she'll never delude herself into thinking that she understands the guy. So she treads carefully here. 

"Sure," he mutters, looking down at his rough hands. 

"If I got someone back like that, after so long, I'd be... Thrilled," she says slowly. "No judgement, but you seem... Less than." 

Daryl's blue eyes swing over to her's; he doesn't just meet her gaze but holds it. That's rare for Daryl and she realizes after a second, it's because his gaze is so intense it almost makes her lose her breath. The emotions there, the depth of them... Cyndie knows what the ocean looks like when storms rage within it, and that's what she sees in his blue eyes. 

"Saviors killed your brother, right?" he asks her, voice lower and rougher than she's ever heard it. Cyndie swallows hard, the grief clawing for a hold like it always does, but she refuses to give it one, so she just nods. Daryl finally drops his gaze, staring back down at his hands again like they hold the answers to this mystery. "Imagine seeing him die and then he walks back into your life. What would you do?" 

Cyndie can't even imagine it. If Dre walked through the gates of Alexandria right now, smiling that some goofy little smile he had with those dimples, all cocky swagger and youthful optimism, Cyndie would... "Think I'm going crazy. Cry. Scream. Hug him. Think I was dead or dreaming. Not... I guess I'm not sure what I'd do." 

"Yeah." Daryl looks at the meeting hall and Cyndie realizes that she does get it. How overwhelming this must by. Why he's not thrilled, why he's avoiding it all. So she nods and rests a hand on his arm for a brief second. Then she takes his plate and goes to drop it back off. Beth is returning her own clean plate, looking at Cyndie with a smile. 

"Did he eat?" she asks and Cyndie shrugs, eyeing her closely now, wondering what her connection is to Daryl. She obviously knows him well enough to realize that he's a finicky eater at the best of times. 

"Hey, Beth, can I talk to you?" Tara asks her, awkwardly holding two plates of food. 

"Yeah." Beth returns her plate to the dirty pile and then takes one for Maggie so Tara has a free hand. Cyndie returns her plate as well, overhearing Tara telling Beth something about a prison and a governor. Cyndie just makes her way back to Enid, who is trying to console Alden, Marco, and Ken in the fact that Beth hasn't given any of them a second look. Her sincerity is somewhat marred by the fact that she can only get a few words out before she starts giggling again. 

* * *

It's late when Cyndie and Enid finally get back to the little guesthouses. They'd spent the rest of the evening saying hello to their friends that reside at Alexandria, including catching up on the gossip that now races through the place like wildfire at Beth's appearance. Enid tells Cyndie that Carl had mentioned her a few times, but Enid still doesn't like talking about Carl, so Cyndie doesn't push it too far. 

Maggie is inside; Alden, Marco, and Ken are trying to cajole Tara and Beth to join them in having a celebratory drink on the porch. Alden has a guitar out and Cyndie is pretty sure he's going to attempt to woo Beth with this tactic. Beth declines the drink but accepts sitting in a wide circle, joined by Cyndie and Enid, who watches Alden with a small smile. 

"You must have some crazy stories," Ken tells Beth, a bit eagerly. 

"Yeah." Beth fiddles with her necklace, a silver heart on dark string, staring up at the full moon in the dark sky above them. "I got shot in the head, was presumed dead, and spent years wandering and scavenging to get back to my family." 

The boys don't ask her a ton of questions after that. 

"I think you'll really like Hilltop," Enid tells Beth, when true darkness has fallen and the boys are too busy with their own conversation about blacksmithing and new weapons to try to continue to impress Beth. "Maggie says it reminds her of home sometimes."

"I'm excited to go," Beth says quietly, looking at the door that Maggie resides behind. "I'm excited to have a home again. I'm excited to have a family again. I've lost people, but I think I gained even more today." 

"You're always welcome at Oceanside," Cyndie tells her with a smile and Beth smiles back. 

"We should turn in," Marco yawns, stretching. "Maggie won't want to stay long tomorrow. I bet we'll be up and out before the sun's even up." 

"Yeah, better to go to sleep." Enid stands, pulling Ken up and off his feet. "C'mon Beth, Maggie's in here. There's plenty of room for you." 

"I'll be there in a second," Beth promises with a smile, standing on the steps to the porch. "I just want to say goodnight and goodbye to some of the others, in case I don't get the chance in the morning." 

"Need help?" Enid asks, frowning at the flimsy excuse and Beth waves a hand. 

"I can find my way," she promises and then disappears off into the night, steps just a little bit too quick. 

Cyndie wants to trust her. She's Maggie's sister after all, and everyone else trusts her fine. But her grandmother's voice still whispers in her ear, reminding her that they thought they could trust people and look where that got them. They've survived one war. They cannot survive another. So Cyndie catches Enid's eye and makes an excuse about needing something from the wagon and heads that way, just to make sure Beth doesn't get lost. Enid gives her a nodding of understanding. She's just going to make sure that Beth doesn't get lost, doesn't need any help navigating Alexandria. 

It's almost easy to believe herself.

She's only a little surprised to find that Beth is headed for the walls. After so long on her own, fending off walkers, Beth must also know that the walls are the most important thing anyone can possess anymore. Cyndie is almost reassured that it's nothing after all but then Beth stops, looking one way and then the other in the manner only someone sneaking around can possess. Cyndie sticks to the shadows, watching and waiting, her gut twisting in suspicion. 

Beth heads towards one of the more remote guard towers, her long blonde braid slapping against her vest with every step. The nights are balmy enough that she shouldn't be cold, yet a few times she wraps her arms around herself, almost as if to give herself a hug. When she reaches the guard tower that overlooks the woods, she stops and looks up the ladder. Cyndie pauses, watching and waiting. 

Daryl's voice makes her jump.

"Coming up then?" 

Beth isn't surprised at all, apparently. She simply looks up the ladder, up into the darkness where Daryl must be on watch. He doesn't seem alarmed by her appearance and so Cyndie relaxes slightly. If he's not going to be worried about it, neither is she. 

"You sure?" Beth asks gently and there's a grumble from above and then the smell of a cigarette wafts over to Cyndie. 

"Yeah." 

"Alright." Beth climbs up the ladder and Cyndie risks a glance out at them. Beth is now standing on the platform with Daryl; he's looking out over the woods while cradling his crossbow like a support blanket. The problem is, Beth is turned and is looking in on Alexandria, directly at the path Cyndie needs to take to sneak back to their bunks. 

She's stuck for the foreseeable future. 

They stand in silence for so long that Cyndie starts to think that they're not going to talk at all. Then Daryl glances over his shoulder at the same time Beth looks back over hers and then they both look away, the silence even thicker than before. Daryl is the one who breaks it with a terse, 

"You okay?" 

"Great," Beth replies softly. "It's... It's everything I ever wanted and dreamed about. This place is amazing. Everyone says Hilltop is wonderful. Everyone is peaceful. Everyone is settled. It's... It's a new world." 

"Yeah." the words sound hard coming out of his mouth. "Weren't like that before though. Had to fight to get here." 

"We always had to fight." Beth sounds sad about it. "I didn't imagine that changing." 

"And you?" Daryl doesn't sound sad. Daryl sounds angry. "You gotta fight?" 

"Course I did, Daryl," Beth sighs. "Learned how from you, didn't I?"

There's another long pause, where Cyndie has to check again that they haven't left the tower. They're still standing there, Daryl's shoulders a rigid line. His voice is hardly less relaxed. "You changed." 

"Yeah." Beth's tone is flat. "Guess I did. Got stronger. But... I still sing." 

The words are like a trigger for Daryl. For the first time, he turns away from the woods and towards Beth. She still holds herself tightly, arms holding opposite elbows and eyes straight ahead, like she's going to fall into pieces if she so much as looks at him. 

"Why?" the word seems to be all Daryl can get out but Beth still shivers, her whole body shaking. 

"Why what?" her voice is so quiet, Cyndie almost can't hear her. "Why'd I do it? Why'd I survive? Why'd I go to DC? Why'd I know you'd come there eventually?" 

"Why?" Daryl repeats, voice a little harder this time and Beth takes a sharp inhale of breath. 

"Dawn couldn't control her cops," she tells him and Cyndie recalls the name from the brief mention of the hospital Beth had told Maggie about in the wagon. "They were raping people. They were the ones who were taking people off the streets. Made the call if they should live or die. It was... Terrible. It was bad." 

"I know," Daryl snarls, like a wild animal caught in a painful trap. "That's why we came to get you, remember?" 

"You were gonna give Noah back," Beth accuses him, voice rising in anger. "You were gonna leave him there! I had to do something! We don't sacrifice one person for the greater good, remember? Cause we're the greater good!" 

"Yeah! We are!" Daryl bellows and Cyndie almost reveals herself in her shock. She's never, ever heard Daryl yell before. Ever. "You were with me! I would've done it! You could've told me! I'd have killed her for you. I did kill her for you, only I was too late!" 

"I had to protect you," Beth tells him desperately, still not looking at him. "I had to protect Noah. It had to be me. It had to be me." 

"Why!" Daryl looks positively mad, his long hair pushed back off his face and his eyes wild as he stands staring at Beth and she remains looking out over Alexandria. "You don't know the hell we went through to get you back. And that's how you repay us, huh? You repay Rick by getting shot? You repay Maggie like that? You repay _me?"_

Silence falls after Daryl's outburst. Cyndie can hear the crickets chirp and the rustle of the wind in the trees, the gentle bubble of the water system and the creaking of the windmill. But she doesn't hear any noise from the guard tower, Beth and Daryl apparently at a silent impasse. 

"I went to DC because I figured you would take Noah home," Beth finally states, like she's struggling not to cry. "And I thought if anything was left, it'd be there. I could be safe. I could wait. I could find you again. Because you all are survivors." 

"Yeah," Daryl says bitterly, "I'm the last man standing, right? Standing over the bodies of everyone I got killed, everyone I couldn't save. Sophia. Dale. Andrea. Merle. Lori. T-Dog. Zach. Hershel. Tyreese. Noah. Sasha. Glenn. Abraham. Eric. Carl. _You."_

Beth looks devastated. Cyndie doesn't know most of the names in the list, but it's clear Beth does, judging by her reaction. It doesn't surprise Cyndie; they all have lists of dead that they run through, that they blame themselves for. For Beth to have survived this long, she must have the same sort of list. If she's known Daryl since the start, then they probably have a very similar list. And Beth's name was likely on Daryl's, since she only very recently proved herself still living. 

"You didn't kill me, Daryl," she says finally, like she's bewildered by the very notion. "You're what kept me alive. The winter after the farm. At the prison. After it fell. And you killing Dawn... That's why they treated me. That's why I lived. That's why I healed, why I left, why I went to DC. You didn't cause my death, Daryl Dixon. You're the only reason why I live." 

Cyndie feels unexpected tears pricking the backs of her eyes. That sounds like a declaration of love. It makes her think of her mother, her grandmother. Everyone at Oceanside, and everyone who fought beside her in the war. They keep each other alive. They keep each other going. And they do it because they love each other. They are each other's reasons for living, even when they want to give up when the pain of grief is too much. 

Cyndie should probably flee now. Beth is finally looking at Daryl and the coast is clear, but she finds she doesn't want to. She's been invested this far. She's curious what the outcome will be. And it reminds her a little of Dre, the nights they spent sneaking out of bed to listen to their parents talk in the living room. When was the last time she overheard something good and not terrible? 

"Don't feel like it," Daryl finally mutters and Beth reaches a slow, careful hand out to catch his arm, laying it there gently.

"I made it," she says softly and then her mouth pulls up into a slow smirk when she adds, "and I won't let you treat me like crap just because you're afraid."

"I ain't afraid of nothing," Daryl states even though his lower lip is wobbling like he's trying not to cry and Cyndie has no idea why that'd be the catalyst for Beth to throw her arms around his neck and for Daryl's hands to snake across her back and for them to both hold on tightly to each other. But it is. 

Cyndie decides it really is time for her to flee. She's not sure when they'll be distracted again and she doesn't want to hang around to find out what they'd do to her if they knew she was listening. She sneaks back to the guesthouses, opening the back door and sliding into the bunk below Tara, who's already snoring lightly. She closes her eyes and finds that she's smiling, thinking of Beth and Daryl in the guard tower, figuring it out in a world that grants them so few happy moments. 

* * *

Marco ends up being right. Maggie has them up before the sun even starts to shine, saddling horses and tossing them granola bars when they complain of being hungry and tired and sore. Cyndie watches to see if Beth looks tired, but on the contrary, she's as bright and chipper as ever, helping toss bags into the wagons and asking Alden if she can ride one of the horses to Hilltop.

"Hey." Maggie looks up when Daryl walks down the street to join them, backpack hanging off one shoulder and his crossbow on the other, squinting in the weak morning light. "You heading to Sanctuary?" 

"Nope." he throws his bag at Ken, who catches it with a surprised grunt. "Going with you guys, to Hilltop." 

"Who's going to Sanctuary?" Tara asks, glancing at Jesus in surprise. Jesus gives a little shrug, clearly as caught off guard as the rest of them. 

"Carol," Daryl states, going to grab his bike. No one says anything but Cyndie sees the looks being exchanged, including a few people looking at Beth. Beth herself apparently remains oblivious, talking quietly to the horse that Alden has brought her to ride. 

"Okay." Maggie has a tiny little hidden smile, brushing nonexistent dust from the wagon seats before she heaves herself up into one and flicking the reins. "Okay. We'll take the green route. Stay sharp." 

They mount up, Beth sitting easily on a horse. Cyndie climbs into the wagon with Maggie and Enid. They head out, towards Hilltop, as the first rays of sun come up to greet them. Behind her, she can hear the boys talking as they guard the rear of the wagon. 

"Think Daryl's going to stay at Hilltop?" 

"Think Daryl's going to Hilltop for her?"

"C'mon. You guys think she's going to go for him instead of one of us?" 

Cyndie ignores them, smiling and watching Beth ride beside the wagon. She's talking to Maggie and Jesus, but her eyes are always on the man on a bike ahead of them, a tiny smile about corners of her lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just love cyndie and i am so terrified of what's to come for my bb daryl this season and next... 
> 
> also i have so many theories and questions about DC and i'm gonna explore all of them in my long bethyl fic because NONE OF IT MAKES SENSE DAMNIT i need to scream about this to you fine folks
> 
> reviews are beloved, reviews are wonderful, reviews are blessed


	10. Henry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if...
> 
> Henry and his mom found someone in the woods?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright. first things first. 
> 
> i've watched 10.18. it's horse shit. 
> 
> this ignores that because what the FUCK (but does fall within the same time jump)
> 
> enjoy

"Are you excited to go to Hilltop?" his mom asks him and Henry shrugs, glancing over at the wagon of supplies they're accompanying to their allies. Normally he would be super excited to go. He likes when they get to travel to the other communities, when he gets to see his friends at the other places. Including Enid. The thought makes him blush a little bit. 

"Yeah," he tells her, patting his horse's neck absentmindedly. "We haven't gone to visit for awhile now. It'll be nice to see everyone." 

"Everyone?" his mother raises one eyebrow. "Or just Enid?" 

He groans and she laughs. She'd seen how he'd looked up when they asked for guards to accompany the trade to Hilltop. She'd volunteered them, made an excuse about needing to consult with Jesus on something. She's acting like it's all for Henry because she sees him crushing on Enid. But he also sees the reason why she wants to come on this trip. 

She gets cagey when she's at the Kingdom too long. She starts to pace like Shiva used to. She has too many eyes on her, too many people calling her the queen and asking her questions and Henry knows how that gets on her nerves, gets under her skin. And sometimes she needs to run away, like she did before. Henry's just glad she's taking him with her this time. 

"Everyone," he answers firmly and she laughs, happy and carefree. She doesn't look like this very often and it's nice. 

She's probably about to tease him some more, but then a shriek shatters the air. Everyone tenses, weapons going up, horses shying slightly as their riders look around in worry. Henry glances at his mom; any joy on her face has dropped away and is replaced by steely worry. She's the warrior now.

"Came from the east," Dianne mutters, looking back at Carol. "Want us to go look?" 

"No." Carol glances over at Henry. "Protect the cargo, get it to Hilltop first. We'll radio if we need help, but that needs to come first." 

"Okay." Dianne nods and signals for the other riders to circle tighter to the wagon. Carol nods to Henry and he grips his staff tightly, nodding back. Then they urge their horses forward, into the undergrowth. 

The screams are coming from a small clearing. It's one person — one woman — who is fending off at least a dozen walkers. She's fighting pretty hard, but it's hardly fair odds in the best of times, let alone when she's covered in blood. Henry only hesitates for a second, then yells and spurs his horse into the fray, staff at the ready to crack walkers aside. 

He takes out a few. Carol takes out more. And the woman keeps fighting, keeps killing the walkers, until he's fairly certain they've gotten them all, only for her to go down screaming as the last one lunges at her and his heart stops. 

Carol moves faster than he's ever seen her move before. She leaps off her still cantering horse, throwing herself bodily at the grappling woman and walker, her blade landing with a dull thud against the walker's skull. It drops with the combined weight and Henry swings himself down, yelling, "Mom! Mom! Mom!" 

"It's okay, I'm fine," she pants, waving him off as she tries to wiggle out from under the body. "Make sure they're all dead!" 

He turns back to the corpses, to double check that none of them will surprise them, driving his staff through their skulls just to be absolutely certain. Then when he's done, he runs over to her side, where she's gently setting the now unconscious woman against a tree. 

"Is she bit?" he demands and Carol gives a little frown, trying to push aside the woman's clothing. 

"I don't know, I can't see." and it's obvious why; the woman is covered in blood. Probably mostly walker, but the possibility can't be ruled out that it's not her own. 

"Should we take her to Hilltop?" Henry asks her and Carol sticks two fingers on the woman's neck, pausing. Henry watches her, wondering if she'll be able to find a pulse. 

"Weak and thready," she mutters, looking concerned. "I don't know if she'll make it to Hilltop and we need to clean her off as quick as we can, make sure she's not bitten and so that she doesn't get sick." 

"Where then?" Henry demands and Carol winces, wrapping the woman's arm around her shoulder and heaving her to her feet. 

"We're not too far from his camp." 

Oh _great._ They're going to see Uncle Daryl. 

* * *

Dog greets them first, barking to alert Daryl to their entry. Henry has the woman on his horse with him, so that Carol can keep her hands free and ready to defend them if she needs to. A second later, Daryl appears from the woods, crossbow up and ready. 

"Daryl!" Carol yells. "We need help!" 

"Who the hell is that?" Daryl demands, with evident concern at the bloody figure in front of Henry. 

"We dunno," Carol admits, "just heard her screaming in the woods and found her fighting walkers. She's covered in too much blood for us to see if she's okay; we need your help." 

"Yeah, yeah, c'mon," Daryl mutters, slinging the crossbow back onto his shoulders and turning for the structure near the riverbank. "Better do it before she gets sick from all that or see if she got bit." 

"Hope you've got water," Carol states and nods to Henry to canter into the clearing that serves as Daryl's camp. Daryl comes over to take the woman from his arms, lowering her to the ground gently. 

"Got a rain barrel, there." he jerks his head to the tub behind him. "Towels down there, under the tarp." 

"Gonna have to undress her," Carol mutters, swinging down from her horse, "but I'll do that. You two do towels and water. Should I ask if you've got any soap, Daryl?" 

"Cracking jokes at a time like this?" Daryl demands of her and Carol brushes hands across his back fondly as she kneels down next to the still unconscious woman.

"Just know how you are. C'mon, hurry. I don't want her dying or turning on us, so chop-chop." 

Henry grabs the towels and Daryl drags the water over. Carol works to free the woman of her weapons, including two knives, a hatchet, and three guns. Off comes her backpack and it gets tossed aside. Carol removes the boots, the jackets, everything until the woman is just down to only a tank top and her underwear. Henry knows this is what's necessary, but he's still pretty uncomfortable, so he grabs the wet rag from his mom and decides he'll stick to her head, where he can avoid seeing everything else. 

He rubs the woman's face clean of the blood and gore, revealing that beneath is a young woman, pale and pretty, even with the scars on her face. He starts working on her hair and is surprised to see that under it all are blonde locks, curly and bleached like she's been in the sun a lot. 

"Bites?" Daryl asks, from where he's doing her arms. Carol shakes her head, cleaning one leg. 

"Nope. Henry, sit her up, check her back." 

He does as told, the woman's head limply falling down onto her chest. He swipes his now rust-colored towel across her neck and shoulders, but despite some bruises, she looks unharmed and more importantly, not bit. "No. No bites back here." 

"Okay, I'm going to check her torso," Carol says briskly, when both legs are cleaned off and Henry looks away as Carol gently pushes the shirt up around the woman's slim stomach. After a few seconds, he hears it being pulled down again. "Nothing there either. I think she's okay. I don't think that she's — she's —"

Carol trails off and Henry looks over the woman's head in concern, wondering if there is something wrong, if she has been bit after all. But his mom doesn't look upset; she's looking at the girl with her head cocked a little bit to the side and a completely blank expression on her face, the towel hanging limply in her hands and still dripping watered-down blood from it. She says nothing, only blinking a few times. 

"Mom?" Henry asks worriedly and Daryl glances at Carol, before following her gaze and looking briefly at the woman again. 

"What's up?" Daryl asks her, eyebrows furrowed and Carol rocks back, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she looks at Daryl, her head shaking a little bit. 

"Daryl," she says carefully, in the tone that Henry knows is the way she talks when she's about to break bad news or tell him something that he really doesn't want to hear. "Daryl, sit down, will you?" 

"What?" he demands, looking concerned now and Carol reaches out, gently pushing his shoulder until he loses his balance and sits a bit heavily in the dirt. 

"Stay there," she orders, rising. "Where are your clothes?" 

"Tarp," he answers, blinking in confusion. "Why you gonna..."

Carol doesn't answer, bending over the tarp and coming up with a faded flannel and an oversized coat. She tucks those under her arm and then finds sweatpants buried under it. She comes back over and starts dressing the woman, while Daryl stays where he is. 

"Mom, is everything okay?" Henry asks, getting a bit freaked out now and Carol nods, gently threading the woman's arms through the shirt. 

"Gonna tell me why you're acting funny?" Daryl demands. 

"Henry, help me get her onto the cot," she orders and Henry does as told, lifting the woman onto the cot easily. She's not very heavy, skinny from weeks in the woods. It seems like she's been out here awhile. Once she's situated, Carol gently brushes the blonde hair back and turns to Daryl, face unreadable.

"How about now?" he grunts and Carol reaches down, helping pull him to his feet. "What's got you acting all jumpy for?" 

"Henry, give her some water on the rag, like Enid showed you," Carol tells him firmly instead and he grabs a fresh towel. Then Carol leads Daryl away with a pointed look that quells any other questions either he or Henry might ask her. 

Henry does as told. He always does. He wets the rag and dangles the end in the woman's mouth, letting the water drip down from it into her slack mouth. Hopefully that will be enough to get her at least a little bit rehydrated. And while he does it, he strains to hear any sort of conversation from the pair in the woods. 

"Daryl — and — I — scars — her?"

"No!" comes Daryl's loud voice and then shushing from Carol. A long pause, a few mumbled words from Carol that he can't make out, and then Daryl saying, still rather loudly, "don't do that to me." 

"I — believe — know that!" Carol insists and then there's some scuffling, like Daryl is trying to get away but is held back by Carol. 

"Gonna — go — swear — christ!" he growls and then all of the sudden, bursts through the forest and comes stomping back over to the bedside of the woman. Henry sees the thunderous expression on his face, one that he knows pretty well, given that it's usually Daryl's expression. But somehow, this looks deeper. This looks more anxious, more... Angry. 

Henry can't help but feel a little oddly protective of the woman, but Daryl doesn't make a move to hurt her or anything. He just stands there, staring at her, eyes searching her face. Slowly, he kneels down and Henry watches as he slowly brings his finger up to trace over the scars on her face. 

Cheekbone. 

Forehead. 

Hairline. 

He does it once, twice, three times. He looks contemplative, like he'll find some sort of meaning in this, some sort of understanding or answers. Henry watches him silently, still dripping water onto the woman's parched lips as Daryl brings one hand up to gently stroke her hair back before reaching down to take her hand and flip it over, showing off a thin white scar that crosses the crease of her wrist. 

Then Daryl gets up abruptly, turns away from her, and retches up bile. 

* * *

"Mom." Henry sits next to her as Carol gently turns over the skewers of rabbit meat over the fire. "What's going on?"

It's been an odd day. Odd that they'd found a woman, odd that they’d end up at Daryl’s, odd that his mom and Daryl are acting so odd about this woman. It’s just all around kinda weird and he’d like someone to start explaining to him just what the heck is going on. He’s not a kid anymore, he thinks he is old enough to understand whatever this is. After everything, he can handle what is happening here. 

“I don’t know,” she tells him, watching Daryl. He’s sitting with his back to the cot, fletching another arrow. It’s pretty evident to anyone that his hands are shaking too badly to do any quality work, but he’s sticking with it. 

“Who is she?” Henry demands. The blonde woman is still asleep on the cot, Henry having dribbled an entire water bottle into her mouth. At this point, all they can do is wait and see. 

“”No-one,” Carol answers, pulling the skewers off the fire. “At least, not until she wakes up.” 

“But you think she’s somebody,” Henry guesses. “Is that why you went to talk to Daryl?” 

“Grab the plates,” she tells him briskly, “and the forks. C’mon.” 

She fixes them up a plate each, and then brings one to Daryl, glaring at him until he takes it and shoves pieces in his mouth without much thought or interest in what he’s doing. Carol waits and watches him like she doesn’t trust that he’ll actually swallow the food, then comes to sit back down besides Henry. 

“What do we do now?” he asks her, thinking about the supplies going to Hilltop. 

“She’s not strong enough to travel. We’ll keep her here, let her wake up, and then take her to Hilltop. But first, we’re going to wait,” she tells him patiently and Henry looks at Daryl, still fletching. 

“He gonna be okay?” he asks her, nodding towards the silent man. 

“I don’t know,” Carol admits and Henry blinks in surprise. For as long as he’s known Daryl, the man has always been unstoppable, untouchable, stalwart and hardy. For him not to be startles Henry. 

He goes back to staring at the fire, wondering what’s going on and being a little nervous as well. 

* * *

Sleeping at Daryl’s is not like sleeping at Kingdom or Hilltop. No comfy bunk with warm quilts and solid walls. Nope. Out here it’s just the wind rustling through the trees and the cold, still air, and the hard ground he’s laying on with a pillow shoved under his head and a lump of something near his hip that makes it impossible to lie comfortably. He’s still wide awake, trying to figure out just what the hell happened today, when he hears it. 

Sobbing. 

Wild, wounded, uncontrollable sobbing. 

He sits up, his first thought being that it’s his mom. He’s never, ever, not a single time in his life heard her cry like that and he’s not sure what the reason would be to do so, but then he realizes that the voice is too deep to be his mom. For a second he panics, thinking that someone has snuck into camp, but then he realizes that it’s Daryl and he is still kneeling beside the cot, head bowed, sobbing. 

He sits up, but some instinct keeps him from moving. He’s never been close to Daryl; his dad isn’t really all that fond of him so by default neither is Henry. But what would Daryl do if Henry tried to comfort him? He thinks it's better not to risk it. He keeps his mouth shut, but then he realizes that Daryl is speaking too, between the sobs. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." he repeats it like a prayer, over and over and over again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry Beth." 

Beth. That's the first time he's heard a name from them. Beth. He wonders how Daryl knows her, how Carol does. He slowly lays back down, trying not to make any noise as he does so and disturb Daryl. He really doesn't want him to see that he's awake at the moment. But he keeps listening. 

"I'm so damn sorry Beth, I'm so... I'm sorry I failed you, over and over and over. I shot your mom, I got your daddy killed..." he takes a sharp inhale of breath, like the movement causes him great pain and then there's a noise, a noise Henry has never heard before but it sounds like Daryl is dying. "I'm sorry I got _you_ killed."

Henry turns his head, a bit of fear racing through him at that. Did she die in the night? She'd been okay when he'd been sent to bed by his mom, still sleeping but breathing, a slow and steady rhythm. Did she die? Is that why Daryl is crying over her body? Did he slide a blade into her skull so it's really ended? Henry wants to make sure. 

"I'm sorry I wasn't faster or quicker or something. Anything. I should've known it was a trap and I never should've opened that door. I should've grabbed you in that goddamn hallway, held you tight, never let you go. I wanted to. I was gonna, but they were all there and it weren't just us no more and I couldn't and then I let you... I let you..." shuddering, gasping breaths now, the kind that Henry remembers from when his dad had come to tell him Benjamin was gone. 

A crack in your heart, one that can't be filled. Nothing can help that pain. Henry wonders if this Beth, if she was a little sister or a daughter or something like to them. His mom doesn't talk about her life before this, but he knows through others that she'd had a daughter. Her name was Sophia though, not Beth. Is this Daryl's daughter? 

"And Beth..." Daryl gives a low moan, deep and brutal. "I'm sorry I never said it. I'm sorry I never told you, never got a chance to figure my shit out. Tell you how much I loved you. How much I needed you. I could be good, with you. We could be good. And I didn't know, I didn't know what that was until afterwards, until you were gone. I didn't know I loved you. But I did. I... Do. I do love you." 

Not a daughter. And probably not a sister either. Henry thinks about Daryl, the few times that he's seen him over the years. Never saw him with a girlfriend. Heck, most of the time Henry's seen him, Daryl's been with Carol, or Tara, or Rosita, or Michonne, or Maggie. And all those women either are married, with someone else, widowed, or like girls. 

He's never seen Daryl love anyone.

"I'm sorry for everything Beth, I'm sorry I let you die and I'm sorry I couldn't bury you and I'm sorry I let them take you and I'm so, so, so fucking sorry. I'm sorry for all of this. I'm sorry for not being better, not being good enough for you. I wish it was all different. I wish I could go back to the start and do it all different, keep you close, keep you with me. Cause I need you, Beth. I need you. So please, please..." his voice cracks. "Please don't leave me again." 

After that, there's only silence. 

And eventually, Henry's brain loses the battle between tiredness and wonder, and he falls into a sleep where his brother is reading him bedtime stories and Carol is gently stroking his hair and there's light and brightness and safety and warmth here and he is not worried anymore. 

He awakens to the light of dawn; he's always been an early riser and it's not helped by the way that the weak sunlight is coming through the trees. He sits up, blinking a few times to clear the sleep away from his eyes. And then he remembers last night and he turns sharply, wondering if it was all a weird, weird dream but — 

No. Not a dream. 

The cot is empty. Daryl is still slumped beside it and for a moment Henry thinks that he's dead, but then sees the slow movement of the man's broad shoulders. Just asleep. Still breathing. Just asleep. 

Henry gently gets out of his sleeping bag, trying to make as little noise as possible. He looks around the camp, seeing his mom still sleeping in her bag and the woman nowhere to be found. He gets up and grabs his staff, easing on quiet feet into the clearing. And he sees a flash of movement down by the river and turns, staff out, ready to defend if needed. 

The woman is sitting by the river, her back to him and her arms wrapped around Dog while she pets him. Henry slowly walks towards her, unsure if he should approach her, yell for his mom and Daryl, or simply walk back to camp and lay back down like nothing ever happened. Then she turns and looks over her shoulder, right at him, and he freezes. 

And she smiles. 

She's pretty. Henry thinks that she's really pretty, all big blue eyes and high cheekbones. She reminds him of someone, he's just not sure who. And she beckons for him to come down to the riverside by him and he sees she's unarmed so he carefully approaches her. People from the woods can be good, but people from the woods can also be bad. Best to be wary, at first, even if she is someone that his mom and Daryl both seem to know. 

"Are you okay?" he asks her quietly, the words masked by the rushing water. 

"I am," she answers back in a soft and sweet voice. She's still wearing the clothes Carol had put her in last night, but now the sleeves are rolled up and the pants are bunched at her hip to stay on her. "Thank you for saving my life. I've been running for such a long time, I guess I got overwhelmed." 

"I'm Henry," he tells her and then blurts out before he can stop himself — "are you Beth?" 

"I am." her face doesn't change but he sees something flicker behind her eyes, something that scares him just a little bit. Reminds him of his mom, when she becomes a warrior again. "Did they tell you my name?" 

"Uh," he hesitates. "Sorta." does listening to Daryl Dixon give confession at her bedside count as telling him? 

"Beth Greene." she extends a small, calloused hand and he shifts his staff so that he can shake it, surprised at the strength behind her grip. 

"What were you doing in the woods?" he asks her warily and she looks over the river, hands trembling as they stroke Dog's head. 

"Looking for this place, I guess," she says softly. 

"This place?" he frowns in confusion and looks around. "Daryl's camp?" 

"Yeah," she says, laughing a little. "Funny, huh? I've been looking for a few days now. And you guys brought me right to it. Makes almost dying kind worth it." 

"You've got a funny sense of humor," he tells her and she sighs, a long drawn out sort of thing.

"Only when I'm drunk," she quips and he wonders if she did take a blow to the head. 

"How do you know them?" he asks, looking back his shoulder at where Daryl and his mom are still sleeping. Then, feeling like he needs to explain how he knows this, he adds, "Daryl and my mom seemed kinda freaked out to find you." 

"I bet they were," she mutters. "I was pretty freaked out to wake up here." 

"Who are you?" he asks, feeling like it's a logical question at this point. He might know her name, but he sure as hell doesn't know who she is. 

"Do you know a Maggie?" she asks him instead and he blinks. 

"Maggie Rhee, at Hilltop?" he asks with a little frown and Beth smiles, wrapping her arms around Dog and pulling him closer. He pants happily at her scratches. 

"That's my big sister," she states proudly and Henry suddenly recalls one of the portraits in the office, the girl in greens and golds, looking over her shoulder with a tiny, little frown. This girl. That frown. Beth. 

"Oh." and then he does know, because Enid's told him some stories, ones that Maggie had told her. A farm. A little girl named Sophia. A prison. A family, before all this. And she was there for that, almost from the start. Which means that they've known her a long, long time. "Wow." 

"Do you think they'll wake up soon?" Beth asks, looking over her shoulder at the two people behind them. He detects a hint of nervousness there, for all of her cheerful, carefree demeanor until now. 

"Maybe." Henry has about a hundred questions he wants to ask her, but he does his best to hold them back. His dad tells him a wise king listens more than he speaks. "Daryl was... Kinda up late. Talking to you." 

"Yeah." a tiny little smile on her face as she ruffles Dog's fur. "I know." 

"Were you awake?" he asks her, shocked and she grins. 

"Were you?" the voice is teasing. Henry looks at her in surprise and she smiles back. "No secrets in camps like this. I learned that pretty early on. It's okay." 

"I just..." he looks back at Daryl, still asleep. "I've never heard him talk so much. In one go, I mean." 

"Mhmm." Beth looks incredibly fond of the guy. Henry doesn't quite get that but he doesn't always get grownups. "Glad to know some things haven't changed." 

"So..." he doesn't even know how to start asking her about what he'd heard. Probably shouldn't. But he's always been curious (too curious, according to his mother) and so he decides he'll ask anyways. "Were you guys married? Dating? Together?" 

"None of the above." Beth presses a kiss to Dog's nose. "Just got lost in the woods once is all." 

"Huh," he responds skeptically and then Dog gives an excited bark and races off, back towards camp. Both Henry and Beth turn in tandem to watch him go, and then Henry winces because Daryl is standing there, staring at the two of them, wide awake and looking rather shocked. 

“It’s okay,” Beth tells him, standing up and wiping her hands off on the jacket. Henry notices that they shake. “It’s okay.” 

He’s not sure if she’s saying it for him or for herself. 

She exhales and walks toward Daryl, at the same time he starts moving towards her. They meet halfway, in the middle, stopping a few feet apart. Henry watches, fascinated, as the two of them just stand there, staring at each other. For a moment, he wonders what they’re going to do, if Daryl is going to cry like he did last night. Then Daryl just gives her a little nod and Beth’s arms open and Henry thinks — _nuh-uh, Daryl Dixon doesn’t hug_ — but then the man bows his big head and dives for Beth’s arms, his face knocking into her shoulder as he burrows there. Beth wraps her arms around him and holds on, swaying slightly. 

Is she sure they weren’t dating? Cause Henry thinks they look like they’re dating. Or at least something. 

He’s watching them when his mother emerges from the tent and comes down to the riverside, standing beside him. He glances up at her, wondering if she’ll tell him now just what all of this is. Wondering if she’ll explain why Beth is still standing there, holding Daryl, stroking his long hair and gently rubbing circles on his back. Carol doesn’t say anything, just stands and watches with him, her face impassive and her hands clasped in front of her. 

“Who is she?” Henry asks, for what feels like the hundredth time. Carol looks down at him and smiles, though it's shot through with sadness. 

“That,” she says heavily, “is the love of his life.” 

“Oh.” he blinks then remembers what Beth had said, that they were just two people in the woods, lost. “Do they know that?” 

“They’ll figure it out,” Carol assures him and then slides an arm around his shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s go get things packed up.” 

“Wait.” Henry tags after her. “Are we still going to Hilltop?” 

“Course we are.” Carol walks past Beth and Daryl without so much as a glance. “Gotta bring Beth to her sister.” 

“Are you sure?” Henry’s watching as Daryl’s hands are sliding into Beth’s hair and she’s running hands over his chest and Henry feels his cheeks getting hot because he’s pretty sure the best thing to do now is leave them both the hell alone. He’d walked in on his mom and dad like this once, and he’s not unaware of what comes next. 

Carol glances at them, a slow grin crossing her face. “Yeah. Let’s get packed up though.” 

Henry doesn’t need to be told twice. 

* * *

“Are you sure you’re okay to travel?” Carol asks Beth, when the two of them have stopped hugging. Carol pushes Beth’s hair back, in the motherly sort of way she does Henry’s sometimes. 

“Thanks to my nurse, I think I can make it,” Beth promises her, winking at Henry. He grins back. She’s traded the sweatpants for her jeans again, but she’s kept the oversized flannel of Daryl’s, tied up around her wait and rolled a few times so her hands are free. She still looks a little unsteady on her feet, but the good thing is Daryl is never too far for her to lean on. He hovers slightly, always reaching a hand out to touch or support her. 

“You can ride on my horse with me,” Henry offers and Carol turns her head so that she can hide her smile. 

“Henry, you’re the nicest person I’ve ever met and I’ll never stop saying thank you for saving my life in the woods,” Beth informs him seriously with a pat to his cheek. “But I’m gonna be riding with Daryl.” 

“Are you sure?” he’s a little worried that she’ll fall off the refurbished dirt bike. And a little jealous, if he’s willing to admit it. She’s just really pretty and Henry doesn’t get the chance to meet pretty women who don’t see him as a little kid. 

“Yeah.” Beth’s eyes twinkle as she looks up at Daryl. “He’s got me.” 

The man in question simply grunts, but Henry’s never seen him so close to smiling. 

They load up the horses and Daryl’s bike and then mount up. Beth threads her fingers around Daryl’s stomach. Henry sees her lips brushing Daryl’s ear; she appears to be whispering something in it. And he mutters something back in retort, making her grin at him and squeeze. It gives Henry an odd sort of ache in the pit of his stomach; he thinks the emotion might be want. 

“Ready?” Carol calls and Daryl revs the bike in answer. Then he drives past them, Beth hanging on the back. Henry follows, with just the faintest hint of bitterness. 

“Mom,” he says, when Daryl is a little ways ahead of them and safely out of earshot. “How do you know when you love someone?” 

She looks like she knows he’s thinking about Enid. He tries to keep his face blank like she does, but it’s pretty hard to do so when she always knows what’s on his mind. She gives him a few seconds to compose himself, pretending to be mulling it all over. Then she looks at him and raises her eyebrows. 

“I suppose it’s being willing to go anywhere or do anything to get to that person,” she says simply and he thinks of Beth, taking down walkers, and Daryl sitting at her bedside, sobbing out apologizes to her. 

“I guess,” he agrees dubiously. 

When they arrive at Hilltop, Beth and Daryl have already been there for a little bit. They enter the gates with the excitedly barking Dog and Henry sees Beth standing there with Maggie, beaming and talking to everyone, but with her hand still entangled in Daryl’s as he stands slightly off to the side, letting Beth have her moment in the sun. And Enid comes running for him, grinning. 

“That’s Maggie’s sister,” she tells him breathlessly, as Henry dismounts. “She said you and Carol saved her from walkers!” 

“Yeah,” Henry tells her proudly, “we did.” 

“That’s amazing!” Enid throws her arms around him in a brief hug before releasing him. 

Henry glances at Beth and Daryl, taking careful note of the expression there, before searching for anything similar in Enid’s. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have watched the episode, plz rant with me in the comments
> 
> if you haven't, god i wish that was me 
> 
> FANFIC SAVES ALL 
> 
> also the next chapter is judith, aka the whole reason i wrote this fic, and i am beyond excited for you guys to read it like i think it might be the best one OKAY BYE


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